Last Of The First
by hopelessromantic34
Summary: We all know the drill. Self Inserts in Mass Effect, on and on the trend goes, where it stops nobody knows. But this time the galaxy doesn't have to deal with an angsty teenager. It has to deal with a group of mercenaries, gangbangers, con-men and soldiers five years before the events of the game. Hold on tight, the last of the American First Infantry Division just came a-knocking.
1. Chapter 1

It was hot. Uncomfortably warm and sticky, in a way that you only ever find in Asian or south American countries. The sun evaporated the abundant supplies of water, which rose into the air and turned your surroundings into something that could only be compared to indoor sauna. And in this kind of environment, just wearing tan cargo pants and a T-Shirt was pushing it. But since I always enjoyed the concept of pushing it, I was also wearing a bulletproof vest, an equipment harness and carrying an AK-47.  
Whilst dodging bullets.

Admittedly the 7.62 round that thudded into the corrugated sheet metal of the Brazilian favela was one of the very few rounds that had made it within a metre of my body since the beginning of the firefight. Pushing it I may have been, but I was very much aware of my limits. Inexperienced kids with poorly maintained weapons. For someone like me, the amount of resistance I wasn't encountering was almost insulting. My employer, Mr "Lin" cowered behind the truck as two harried locals that he had hired loaded the last of his merchandise into the back.

Ahh the locals. Desperate enough for a buck that they would load a vehicle with ordinance, in the middle of a gunfight, without body-armour. All for minimum wages. Gotta love the third world.

I lifted my rifle, sighting down the weapon as my finger delicately flipped the selector from fully automatic to single shot. Breath out, breath in, breath out…my double tap sent the brain matter of my foremost aggressor thirty feet back in the direction he had come from. The next single round hit another in the shoulder. Not my best work, I mused, as I ducked out of sight behind a crappy 1966 Beetle that looked like it had seen more shit than I had.

I spared a glance at the front headlights. They looked a bit like eyes from this angle. The battered Volkswagens expression said all too clearly, "You think you got problems?"

Couldn't argue with it there. Another 7.62 shot out the back left wheel. It wheezed at me theatrically, like a half inflated balloon that just had a pin stuck through it. It didn't go bang, it just made this sound that reminded me of my father after his morning run, and a whoopee cushion I had back in first grade. The headlights stared at me accusingly. "Better you than me brother," I commented.

I pop up again just in time to see a trenchgun toting kid in shorts and not much else, duck behind a few sheets of corrugated iron that someone had left propped up in preparation for some repairs on the ol' roof. I sent three rounds through the rusty heap of metal, and then another two just to make sure. A limp hand fell into view, and I knew that he was dealt with. "Mother never taught you that one then," I commented dryly after sending another contender to the ground with a few bullets lodged in his spine.

Inevitably that comment drew the majority of the brainpower I had towards my family situation. The brainpower that wasn't already focused on shooting and ducking that is. Mom would kill me if she knew what I was doing. She was still under the impression that I was on holiday in India, working on my thesis. If she knew that I had continually ditched on my college education to go killing Brazilian street-rats over weapons shipments, she would blow a fuse. "Twenty-five and still without a proper education," she would say.

"Twenty-Five with a fat bank account and a Silver Star in my pocket," I would remind her. But my two tours with the 1st Infantry Division held no charm for her, unlike my father and grandfather. My grandfather had fought in Vietnam, and championed his time in the army, and the benefits he had received upon leaving. He said that without the military, we wouldn't have the fancy house, family business or expensive college educations. "Military service is an honourable tradition. And it's only gotten better since my day," he would pontificate. "Back in my day, you would have been sent to the front with a gun and told to charge, cause that's what they did with us!"

He used to put special emphasis on the word Us. African Americans. "It might have been unfair at first, but because of the army I had enough money to set up our families business! Put food on our table, and like all God fearing men and women we must repay what we owe!"  
That was his logic. An upstanding and loyal man, my granddad. And he was right. There was no great hardships specifically endured by African Americans in the army anymore. Though I might have had a skewed experience somewhat, due to my unique circumstances. Being six foot three really helps when you want to rise above adversity…so to speak. And my three closest friends enlisted at the same time. That also helped.

"AMERICAN, WE LEAVING! GET ON NOW, OR WE LEAVE YOU BEHIND!"

The voice of Mister Lin, The Man with the Obviously Fake Name. All the way up there with Smith and Jones. I got up from my crouch and hauled ass away from the Beetle, which watched me go with the kind of dejected sadness that only the headlights of a Volkswagen can mimic. I gave the car and the advancing favela gang a proper goodbye with what remained of my magazine, then hopped over the bodies of our hired help and into the back of the truck. Lin must have finished loading himself.

Hammering on the metal that separated the back from the driving compartment, I shouted, "I'm in, get us out of here!"

I settled down as the truck rumbled off, leaving the sound of distant gunfire behind. Brushing a hand through my dreadlocks, my mind drifted from my family to my payment. Five gee's, wired to a bank account in the Cayman Islands. Grinning like a loon, I wondered what to spend it on.  
Then my grin faded. I felt a…prickling at the back of my neck. I reached back and found nothing, just an itch that refused to leave. A bug bite? No rash or little red lump. It was getting worse now, like a mild headache. I reached into my backpack which lay at my feet and extracted a bottle of water. In climates like this, headaches from dehydration was not uncommon. I chugged half the bottle in one breath. It was still getting worse. Now it was the morning after a night out. "This is not where you should die, Prince."

Pressing a hand against my forehead, I screwed up my eyes and gasped. Now it was straight up agony. "Fuck!" My deep voice made the explosive force of the curse sound almost like a bear roaring. I slumped sideways, clenching my hands around the only things I had back there that I could hold onto. My rifle, and my backpack. The pain was blocking out everything now. I couldn't hear, I couldn't think, I couldn't even feel. Then…nothing.

Just like that, the pain was gone. And so was the rumble of the trunk engine. I sat upright slowly, and opened my eyes. I was sitting on a very comfortable park bench, looking out across an impressive lake. It was the kind of impressiveness that you only see when you pass someone a big case of cash and say, "Look man, I understand you have to keep it tight, and I get that. But man, I want this shit to be unreal, you feeling me?"

Looking down, I noticed I was still holding my backpack and my rifle. My grip was so strong I could hear my joints creaking. I eased up somewhat, and tried to relax. But that wasn't easy. Not when I notice that the woman checking her email next to me, was in fact in possession of a rather convincing set of tentacles. I consider my position for a second.

I was either very crazy, or extremely fucked. Cautiously, I edged to the other side of the park bench away from the Asari. I blinked once or twice, and pinched myself. Yeah, brother you are so fucked. Rolling that thought around in my mind a few times, I became aware of how nicely the futuristic suit curved around its….abundant other curves. I edged back towards her.

Well….when in Rome.


	2. Chapter 2

Well, here we are again. I want to thank all of you that reviewed and favorited this. Now let's get this started. Oh, wait one more thing. I do not own Mass Effect; but if I did then Tali would have a love interest from day one.

**Chapter 2**

**Well….when in Rome.**

With that thought in my mind, along with a very detailed expectation of what I believed to be under that outfit, I moving closer to get a more intimate look at her. Smooth light blue skin, plump lips that at the moment of my scrutiny were pursed in mute concentration. Her tentacles….were uniform in shape and structure save for two, which curled around each other. I couldn't remember ever seeing an Asari like that in the game. My stare drifted to her clothing.

And what was I supposed to say about that….just…damn!

A skintight jumpsuit, black with a few orange markings on the front, covered almost her entire body. The only parts not covered, were a neat semi-circle cut out to show off her belly button, and left arm. And she radiated sexiness like the sun radiated heat. It was making me uncomfortably hot just sitting near her.

Then she turned her head and met my eyes. I froze for a split second, locked in a staring match that, whilst short, was the most intense I'd ever had. I felt the urge to blink, but I wouldn't let myself. A girl like this, I was betting most would look away immediately. But I wasn't going to. Letting a suave grin spread across my lips, I leant back and swept my leg closest to her up and crossed it over my left.

"Hey."

I was being extremely obvious about her effect on me. That one word practically shouted the fact that I was interested in her. She examined me with a critical eye. The bulletproof vest, the tan cargos and black t-shirt. The desert camouflaged boots from my time in Afghanistan and Iraq. Then my dreadlocks, tied back with a rubber band to keep them out of my eyes as I aimed a weapon. The dark skin and clear brown eyes.

What wasn't to like I asked myself? Her expression however, took on all the characteristics of exasperation and pity. "Stare somewhere else."

I blinked. Well, that was pretty much the fastest strike out I had ever experienced. "Don't be giving me that line, I can't help it!"

I gestured expansively, the smile still present. No-one ever said picking up a girl as fine as this would be easy. Then again no-one from my neighborhood ever said the really fine girls would be blue aliens either.

"You're reeling me in girl, I'm helpless."

I saw a brief twitch at the side of her mouth, and I knew that my terrible attempts at a pickup were having at least some positive effect. "Reeling you in? Impressive, considering I didn't even notice you sitting down."

"You were checking your mail, I get it. Someone as beautiful as you has got to have a lot of social obligations, right?" What was that orange thing called….Omni-Tool. Yeah, that was it.

There was a definite twitch at the side of her mouth that time. She was becoming less interested in giving me the cold shoulder. Keep it up. "Not as many as you might think. And yourself? I've never seen humans wear clothes like those, but then again very few humans ever come to Thessia."

Her eyes drifted down to my AK, and my backpack. "And traveling armed I see. You are a mercenary perhaps?"

I pretended to consider the question, playing it cool.

"Something like that, yeah."

I tilted my head to the side, and rested my arm on the back of the park bench. She smiled fully this time, sizing me up very openly. Her gaze was almost coy, but I could see that glint in her eyes. This one might bite. She reached forward suddenly and I tensed as she brushed her hand over my vest. "It's a bit too stiff to be conventional clothing. Body armor?"

I nodded, not sure if it was in approval of her physical contact, or if it was in conformation. Probably a bit of both. "I've never seen one of you with…" I pointed briefly at my own head, "Such unique….tentacles."

She pinned me with a sharp stare, and I swore I felt the temperature between us drop a degree or two. "It's called a fringe."

"Right," I said, pretending that I had only forgotten and had known all along. Not far from the truth, but I never really had any inclination to remember details like that from video games. Things like that just never seemed to stick in my mind. "Were you born with that or…?"

"I was, yes. Very few Asari, perhaps one in a million are born with this. It is genetic."

"So it's like a human being albino? Or a dimpled chin?"

She nodded in approval, and seemed to have let my ignorance slip for the moment. "Precisely."

She thought for a moment, and then lent in closer. "So why are you on Thessia, of all places? Business or….pleasure?"

"Truthfully, I have no idea. But I'm beginning to think it might be the last one," I countered, staring at her lips. They looked inviting, and this close to me they smelt inviting as well.

"You made the journey all the way to Asari controlled space, and you have no idea why you came?" She laughed, a sound that would have made angels give a standing ovation. "I find that difficult to believe. Did you come to see the Temple of Athame? It is one of the most famous constructions in the known galaxy, after all."

"Temple of what?" I queried, more concerned with the way her lips moved as she spoke than with her words. So sue me, I had been in Brazil for almost an entire week. I hadn't been laid in two. She frowned, her pleasant expression darkening. Her hand came up, and pointed behind us without her gaze ever leaving my eyes.

Mystified, I glanced in that direction. Then my mouth fell open. Across a wide open plaza that was dotted with ornamental trees, and crisscrossed with long lines of Asari going about their business, was a Temple. And god damn it, it was massive!

If the Egyptians had combined their penchant for big motherfucking buildings, with modern technology that would allow them to build even bigger motherfucking buildings, then the end result would still not be as big as this one. It was huge.

"You didn't notice it before you sat down?"

I returned my gaze to my companion, whose face was still set in a frown. She was searching my eyes intently, and was evidently curious about what she was seeing there. "I…"

There was nothing I could say to that. I'd been caught with my pants down, and not in a good way. Then, sudden and brilliant inspiration. "Well," I remarked casually, "With someone like you around, you can't really blame me for getting distracted."

Her smile returned, and it was appraising. "You certainly have a way with words…." She left that sentence hanging and held her hand out towards me, prompting. She wanted a name. I wasn't ready for that. I might have been able to take popping up here out of no-where in my stride, but handing out personal information was a no-no.

"Prince," I heard myself saying, "Just call me Prince."

The nickname that my friends gave me. Screwing with me about my family's money. It stuck from day one. "Tannith," she returned. Then, with no warning, she reached out and took my hand, placing it firmly on the space directly above her breasts. I gulped involuntarily.

"I hope we meet again Prince. For someone I didn't even know until ten minutes ago, you have been very _stimulating_."

I felt a shudder run up my spine at that last word, and I watched her like a starving dog as she got up and lost herself in the crowd, the press of bodies closing up around her like the Red Sea joining back together behind Moses.

I shut my mouth with a noticeable click. She was nothing like any girl I'd ever seen before. Damn girl!

_(Scene Transition)_

Tannith strolled through the crowd, the prodigious cogs of her mind turning at warp speed. Strangers were always welcome. They gave her side-ventures, distractions to occupy her considerable intellect. This "Prince" was an unknown. An unusual unknown that she wished to know.

Bringing up the display on her Omni-Tool, she opened a program of her own devising and waited as it loaded. A bright neon green light lit up on the side of the metal bracelet. She turned it on herself and watched as the light revealed a perfect handprint on her chest, directly above her breasts. The Omni-Tool snapped a picture, and got to work on identifying the owner.

A strange rifle, antiquated body armor and a fake name. Please, she had met Krogan less inconspicuous.


	3. Chapter 3

Well here we are, back again for chapter three. As is custom: I don't own Mass Effect nor any of its associated producers, although if I did then we would all know for sure what Tali's face looked like.

**Chapter 3**

I don't really know why I decided to go check out the Temple that Tannith had pointed out. It was hardly the best of responses to my current situation. Suddenly appearing in a world that by all accounts should have been pure fiction. Maybe it was because Tannith was the one who showed it to me, or maybe it was because I had a strange fascination with the buildings sheer size. I remembered hearing about the Asari goddess in passing from the game. Used to be quite an influential religion among their people. What did they worship now? I was sure that the new dominant religion had been mentioned as well, but I hadn't bothered to remember that particular detail.

Glancing away from the Temple, and to the crowd that was moving all around me, I noticed that a considerable number of eyes were centred on me. Couldn't say I blamed them. I was armed, armoured and huge, at least compared to them. My six foot three inches towered above the tallest of the Asari that I had seen so far. As my scrutiny fell on them, they turned away and attempted to look disinterested. It seemed that I was the proverbial elephant in the room. No-one was comfortable with my presence, but no-one was willing to pass comment.

I just kept on walking until I found the entrance to the Temple. It reminded me of a picture of the Statue of Zeus at Olympia. Or at least what I imagined it to look like. I was almost certain that the Statue of Zeus was torn down by someone or other. Lump that in with all the other things I never bothered to remember. History, history: A thousand different things that everyone remembers but never learned anything from. At least I was honest about not giving a shit.

Then again, I thought, looking up at the exquisitely sculpted stonework and high arches of the Temple, if history was this impressive I was prepared to take a mental picture and file it away safely. And the statue….damn, no wonder the Asari were considered artists and diplomats over conquerors. People who make shit that big must have serious trouble learning to do anything else. I mean, what was the point?

And almost no crowds in here as well. It was like no-one was even interested in this monstrous effigy. "Ohh that old thing? Well we got high one night, and when we woke up it was just there man. Mostly we just try and ignore it." Ha.

I shouldered my way out of the Temple and set out in the first direction that struck my fancy. That happened to be left, but only because a group of rather buxom Asari happened to be going that way slightly ahead of me. I fell into step a few feet behind them, my eyes fixated on their swaying hips. It was like being back on the streets in my friend's hood. As a group, we had a reputation. Mostly thanks to Dominique King, or just King. A muscled, steel pumping banger that stood a full head higher than my six-three. Everyone on the block knew that Dom was the one we answered to, and girls would step out into our path on the street just to sway their hips for us. Good times.

Then the military days that came after…King was our Sergeant, a case of life imitating art. We followed him without question, a matter of loyalty. Same as everyone King came into contact with over the years. It was just so easy to wade into the thick of it at his back, made you feel like you were part of something bigger, noble. Like following Dom King was a cause that could unite the world.

My feet carried me after the hips like a zombie after brains, never deviating. A mostly blank, but slightly satisfied expression was stuck on my face. Then I found my eyes drawn away from the sea of skin-tight, latex clad legs. And that was no small task to accomplish. The huge holographic panel managed it though. I was standing in front of another building, constructed in a similar way to the Temple of Athame, just a bit more conservative. It looked older than the surrounding structures, like it was one of those historically significant buildings. Maintained over the ages so that people would remember their culture and code.

Once again, my feet took over and I went to explore. The walls were made of smooth stone, like marble. It was all grey and depressing. Made it feel like some of the mosques I'd had a look around in Iraq. Asari Nunnery?

A figure detached itself from the shadows in front of me and swept past, head lowered in contemplation. My eyes followed. I couldn't help it. If that was the Asari version of a nun, then god damn, I might have to convert. Once again with the skin-tight sex suit, but this one was tomato red with armoured shoulder pads and a high collar. And sweet mother of mercy, the neck was so low cut I could see the inner sides of her breasts. Now that was just indecent.

I mean, I was no prude, and I certainly found the view pleasant….but come on! I knew a lot of whores. They wore low cut tops that exposed their stomach, and skirts so short that a kid could see from across the street that they wore no underwear. That was perfectly fine. Whores were whores. That was just the way it was. But these suits and the casual display of so much skin….and no-one was passing around money for the privilege of seeing it. It just didn't feel right. The Asari ground to a halt under my gaze, and looked at me. I stared right back, my eyebrow raised and my gun slung on my shoulder.

"You are lost?" She asked pointedly. I shook my head slowly, "Just looking around."

Not that that is any of your god damn business, I almost added. Something about this one just rubbed me up the wrong way. She reminded me of some of the entitled old bitches that my father dragged me along to see at formal business parties. The ones that wore their hair tied up in a bun, and jewellery that had been passed down to them by their mother. They had a certain elegance and poise, and for some reason that just offended me.

"This is the home of the Justicar order. It is no place for idle wanderings."

"And what's a Justicar when it's at home?" I asked, wondering if I would know all this if I had bothered to buy the next two games. Then again, with my mercenary work I would never have had time to play them anyway.

"It is a sect of Asari culture, an order of warriors whose duty it is to uphold the ideals of Justice and common good."

"So you're the Po-Po?"

She frowned, "I am not familiar with those words. Is it a human phrase?"

I nodded, no trace of humour. "Something like that," I replied.

"And it means..?"

"The Police," I answered, putting special emphasis on the "Po" part of Police. Almost like it was an offensive word. In a way, most of the people who I associated with thought it was. The Asari in front of me narrowed her eyes, and my eyes drifted to the gap in the front of her outfit, and then back up. "Though I've never seen the police dressed like you before. Going to a party or something?"

"Members of the Justicar Order do not indulge in 'parties'. I am on my way to apprehend a criminal."

"By yourself? The best criminals don't roll alone, trust me."

She gave me a look that conveyed complete and utter contempt, and lowered her head once again in silent thought. She continued on and out of the monastery, hips swaying in much the same way as every damn Asari I'd seen so far. A race of fucking prudes and teases, I decided silently.

Walking back out I continued to watch her retreating back, then turned sideways to the holographic board. Lots and lots of faces, with names and numbers underneath. I'd been inside enough police stations in my day, bailing friends out of holding cells not to know what they were. Bounty notices.

An idea popped into my head, and I was immediately fixated on the Justicar as she slowly vanished from sight in the crowd. Apprehend a criminal she said. Monastic Order she said. Bounty notices, I see. She was catching 'bad guys' and probably wasn't collecting the bounties. But I could collect, if I caught one first. I contemplated the notion, hurrying after her as I melded into the darker corners of the street. No-one likes bounty hunters, not the Po-Po, not the bangers. Nobody likes a civilian who hunts down your everyday, honest criminal. I certainly shared that universal dislike. But then again, there was free money in front of me, and it wasn't like I was snitching.

Snitching implied some sort of betrayal, and honestly, whoever expected me to give a shit about some alien with a price on their head was seriously deluded. No unspoken rules were being broken, I was just temporarily involving myself in another hood's dispute to make a few bucks. Nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all.


	4. Chapter 4

Standard greeting, I own nothing but my characters.

Chapter 4

Tailing people through a crowded street used to be simple back in the day. Walk behind them, around three of four meters back and always keep your gaze centered on the back of their head. Around seventy percent of the time they would never even notice me, and even then I was just like every other black guy on the street. On the outside that was, but I still blended in nicely. Now, I was a six foot three African American in Kevlar, with an AK-47 hanging from my shoulder, surrounded by blue alien women. Remaining inconspicuous was going to be a little difficult.

But I had been taught by some of the best. 2k, Terri Graves. An only child I may have been, but Terri was my little sister. Around five nine with curly hair, skin the shade of milk chocolate, and one hell of an attitude, she could usually be found anywhere broken bones were in short supply, remedying that situation with a ferocity that was quite honestly, frightening. When we'd all enlisted, Dom and I weren't sure whether we looked out for her in the shower and while she slept to protect her, or the poor bastard who might think it a good idea to take liberties. She was perfectly capable of premeditated homicide, and in all honesty I didn't think that she really knew how to restrain herself. Sex, booze, drugs and guns. If it was illegal and fun then Terri was all over it, with all the speed and aggressiveness of wild tigress.

It was one of life's great mysteries then, why she of all people knew how to completely disappear in a crowded street, or a shadow. Why she could practically follow you half way across a city and never be seen. She must have had one hell of a childhood, and that's putting it generously. I followed the Justicar from the deepest, darkest shadows I could find. A job that I accomplished with ease. My endeavors were assisted by the journey itself. She was heading into the less law abiding parts of the city, places where secrecy was a way of life, and people purposefully sabotaged streetlights to have shadows to skulk in when the need arose. I was right at home. No matter where you go, some things always stay the same.

Turning my attention back to the Justicar, I saw that she had stopped at a street corner, hiding herself in the darkness just like I was. Her gaze was focused on a large shoddily made building with rusty metal walls and huge sliding hanger doors. Well, well, what do we have here? I crossed the street and edged into the shadows on the opposite corner from hers. Just like every other warehouse or hanger I'd ever seen. Just less corrugated metal and more style. I guess the Asari had to make everything fancy, even their slums. I wondered how I should play this. I didn't know who the guy with the price was, what they looked like, what they were capable of, how many cronies they had. Nothing. That left me with one good option.

Use the Justicar as my bloodhound. She would lead me to the target, taking down all the opposition along the way, then I would sweep in and take the bounty. Just like that, simple. Except it wasn't, and I knew it. There were any number of ways that this could turn into a shit-storm. For a job like this I usually requested background information on the target, specialized gear and a few goons as backup. I had none of the above.

Then again, it wouldn't be the first time I'd thrown myself into the frying pan for a paycheck that I might not get, and knowing me it wouldn't be the last. The Justicar detached herself from the shadows, biotics flaring as she threw a Throw that leveled the hanger doors. As the rending screech of protesting metal echoed up the dilapidated streets, and the screaming of pedestrians answered with its glorious chorus, I unslung my rifle and followed her. Fuck it, wing it now, and think about it later. That is if I wasn't a red stain on the ground thanks to an enraged Asari Voodoo warrior flattening me. Can but hope.

She marched through the giant opening she had created, hips swinging, voice calling out over the din, "Lay down your arms and you shall not be harmed. I am here to take you all into custody."

Yeah right. Like you'd get sent in to take down a bunch of girl scouts? I could tell it was just a formality. Like police shouting "Stop or I'll shoot". They already knew they had to put a cap in your ass, but warning the perpetrator was almost as important as reading people their rights. "You have the right to remain silent, you have the right to an attorney, and you have the right to a bullet in your black ass if you don't stop making me run after you!" And so on, and so on.

Gunfire answered her request, bouncing harmlessly off the Barrier she erected with a lazy flick of her wrist. As she moved forwards into the building, bitch slapping obstacles that weighed as much as a small semi-truck out of her way, I came up behind her and took a sharp left. Some of the goons shooting at her probably saw me, but they weren't the ones I was worried about. The Justicar would jump to one of two conclusions if she did. That I was after the bad guy just like her, or that I was working with them. The latter was probably the more likely of the two. I quickly hide myself in the boxes and crates that were stacked roof high in the warehouse, keeping a watchful eye on the proceedings.

It was abundantly clear to see that these criminals were no slackers. Bullets slammed into the Biotic Barrier protecting the Justicar like raindrops on the surface of a puddle. Small indentations appeared all over the shield as the assault raged, only to be smoothed out again as the Justicar poured more energy into it. But the volume of gunfire that they were producing was just as much as an entire platoon of soldiers back home, with a few 50 caliber Humvees tossed in for good measure. Weaponry had advanced a lot since then. "Were going to fillet you like a fish Justicar!"

"You should never have come here!"

The opposition were shouting insults and threats at the top of their lungs, their voices only just audible over the constant fire of their weapons. Then I saw a blue corona bloom around a heavy looking crate at the opposite end of the hanger from myself, and grinned as it slid sideways, increasing in speed. It juddered as the friction between itself and the ground tried to slow it, and then took off like a bullet as it gave a swift fuck you to the laws of gravity. The unfortunate Batarian it aimed itself for turned at the last second, and caught it full in the face. It lifted him from his feet and flung him into three more who had made the mistake of arranging themselves in a perfect line. And that's why there is such a thing as combat spacing, I chuckled to myself.

Tearing my attention from the fight, I focused on the back of the building. If I was in charge, that's where I would be. Well in the back where the Justicar's biotics couldn't reach. My eyes settled on a couple of Turians who were keeping themselves out of the way. They looked more like grunts than anything else, so not them. A Batarian was running in the opposite direction, but his gear was kind of shoddy at best. Not the leader. Then I saw the Krogan. Now that big guy has to have a good reason for not being at the front. Krogan loved a good fight, so why was he lumbering around at the back of the building? I watched him as he clotheslined the Batarian and stomped on his face. Martial discipline, I mused. Could be him.

I ducked instinctively as a string of stray bullets peppered the wall behind me. Cursing, I relocated my hiding spot to behind a stack of crates. Some more cover between me and them. The Krogan was having a pow-wow with an Asari now. Her gear was in much better shape, and she was gesturing with her hands instead of firing a weapon. Classic CO behavior. I watched as the Krogan charged off towards the front, and the Asari started jogging away from the fight, towards the back door. Leaving the rest of them to take the fall while you slip out the back ehh? Got you now, Bitch.

Moving from cover to cover, I went after the Asari. This was working out well. The Justicar would clean up the grunts, while I took down the leader. The largest bounty was bound to be on the Asari's head. The rest of them were just incidental. Thirty feet, twenty five….my footsteps were traitorously loud over the gunfire. I told myself it was just my imagination, but as I got to the twenty feet mark, I saw her head cock to the side. She glanced back, and saw little old me bringing an AK-47 to my shoulder. "Hands on your head! Put your fucking hands on your head!"

A grin spread over her face, as a familiar biotic blue aura blossomed around her figure. She brought her hand sweeping from left to right, and I found myself flying through the air. "Ohh Shiiiiitttt!"

My shoulder slammed into a stack of crates, and my finger caught up with my brain and instinctively pressed down on the trigger. A short burst echoed out across the warehouse, then I got control of my nerves and loosened my muscles. Trigger discipline, remember your trigger discipline. The Asari was running again, away from the Justicar, who was almost done with what little resistance was left. It was just her and the Krogan now, and they were duking it out like a couple of professional brawlers. Ignoring the pain in my shoulder as best I could, I took off in pursuit.

She was a better than average runner, I could tell that much. Strong legs, pumping arms, kept her weapons holstered to reduce drag. Nice ass as well, I mused. Slinging my rifle once again, I winced as my shoulder joint clinked ominously and sent a sharp stabbing pain up my arm. As I ran it faded to a dull ache. Mentally, I made a note to have that checked out later. Never a good sign when joints start clinking.

She stopped briefly at the hanger doors to pull her fist back and blow a person sized hole through the doors. Not as powerful a biotic as the Justicar then. I jumped through the hole, and frantically looked left and right. She had gone right, tearing away as fast as her legs would carry her. The alleyway behind the warehouse was dark, but clear of the usual garbage and junk you'd find in my time. Not even an empty soda can. She reached the end of the alley first, vanishing around the left corner. I followed a second later, skidding slightly as my weight made me overshoot by a couple of feet.

She had stopped again to fiddle with her Omni-Tool in front of a heavy metal door, set into the wall. Apart from the door it was a dead end. I prayed that it wouldn't open, but true to the rules set down by Mr. Murphy, it slid open to allow the Asari entrance. She bolted inside, as I thundered in right after her. Stairs upwards, the metal kind with no backing and shaky handrails. She was taking them three at a time, her lighter frame working to her advantage. Me, I took them in twos, moving as fast as I could without risking a slip. It felt like four floors, but it might have been five.

The stairs opened up onto a landing with three doors. She took the one in the middle without even glancing at the others. She had this escape route planned out in advance. We ran down a hallway and out of another metal door with a red symbol painted on it. This door didn't slow her down, it slid open automatically. She had opened up a considerable distance between us thanks to my hesitance on the stairs, around fifteen feet. Not much in a traditional sense, but I knew that the longer the chase went on, the more chance there was that she would find some way to lose me. And when I saw what was on the other end of the door, I almost sang with relief. She had led me to the roof. A dead end.

The air was fresher, and I could see the stars far up above, twinkling at me. With all the shit I got up to, I hadn't really looked at the stars since my patrolling in Iraq. I'd forgotten how cool those looked. I ducked as she wrenched an antenna from its socket and flung it at me with her biotics. I was too tall to avoid it though, and I braced myself as it slammed me back through the sliding door and into the hallway. That time I angled it so it would slam into the ceramic plating I had tucked into my vest. I heard the plate crack, or it might have been one of my ribs. My adrenaline was pumping me up so high it felt like I was floating on a cloud.

Blood trickled out of my mouth from where my teeth had cut into my lip as I tumbled around. I spat and whipped away the excess with the back of my hand. The hair growing there felt bristly against the stubble on my chin. Pulling myself back to my feet, I watched as my paycheck gave me a hearty wave and threw herself off the side of the roof. Ahh fuck….

I rushed forwards, expecting to see a blue smear on the ground below. Instead, I saw her straightening herself out of a crouch, one floor down on the opposite roof. She grinned at me, a self-satisfied smirk that made my blood boil. Ohh now we have issue, ho. You're going down!

My gaze turned left and right, searching for some way to follow after her, but I came up blank. "Unless you are a biotic human, there is no way down here!"

I scowled at her as my fingers curved around a groove at the side of the roof. Probably to drain rain water, I thought to myself.

A light bulb went off over my head. And when I say light bulb, I really mean the little demon on my shoulder told me something absolutely bat shit insane, after choking the angel on my other shoulder to death with a length of garroting wire. This was one of the reasons why the CO always keeps themselves out of the fight. It's always a terrible idea to make life threatening decisions while you're high on adrenaline. Standing back up, I walked back to the antenna that lay on the rooftop and picked it up. I tested it with my hands. Bendy, pretty strong. Was it strong enough though for what I had in mind? Doubtful.

"I'm leaving now. Tell the Justicar that she failed!"

Fuck it. Lifting it into what I assumed to be the correct position, I started my run-up. My feet felt like slabs of lead, my shoulder ached like a bitch, my heart pounded like a set of parade ground drums. "YOU BITCH!"

The Asari turned, to see me execute a pole vault off my roof, flying through the air as I howled like a banshee. I flailed like a madman, watching the ground come up to meet me. But happily, I had an improvised crash mat to break my fall. I nailed my quarry right in the chest, all two hundred pounds of muscled African American brought to bear against the unfortunate blue whore who had the misfortune of pissing me off. The Russian judge held up a four, and as he yawned expansively, turned the page on his magazine.

Maybe it wasn't Olympic standard, but damn, it felt good to me.

"When I tell you to put your hands on your head!"

I punctuated each word with a punch to the face or stomach, taking out what was left of my fury on my squishy target, "You put you fucking hands on your head!"

Honestly, I can say without a shadow of a doubt, that beating the crap out of someone had never felt so good in my life.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Dom always used to teach us that turning the other cheek was a discipline only practiced by the weak. That it was fine for all the other people out there, but when it came to your humble banger, dodging bullets down in the shitholes that they called their homes, turning the other cheek meant more areas for some motherfucker to stab. And we all subscribed to his philosophy. Terry because she wanted any excuse she could get to beat the living shit out of some poor bastard. Juan because he trusted Dom….and me. Well, I can't really say why I followed Dom. I had a good family, lived in a privileged neighborhood. None of their problems should have affected me. But I threw my lot in with them anyway. Maybe because I enjoyed the danger, maybe because Dom was just an easy guy to follow.

Either way, when they refused me payment for the Asari I lugged half way across the city to turn in, I was pissed. I stormed out of there, knocking Officers to the ground and data pads flying. If I'd have been a white guy, my skin would have been a nice shade of crimson. And my anger wasn't just attributed to the refusal. It was attributed to my own stupidity. Of course they wouldn't pay out. I had overlooked some of the key features in Asari society.

They were a diplomatic people, and didn't sit well with the idea of loose cannons running around with guns.

They liked things organized. They liked it to look good on paper. A payout of almost 30k to some human off the street with no real name or identification didn't look good on paper.

And lastly, probably the most important. They respected the Justicars. And when that blue, sex suit wearing biotic bitch stormed in and told them how I'd trailed her to the scene of the shootout and impeded her pursuit of justice, my case was done for.

The Officer at the front desk took me to the side and filled me in. I suppose that she wasn't all bad. After all, she let me slide without taking me in for Obstruction of Justice, possession of an illegal firearm and lack of identification. The news she was giving me however, wasn't something I liked. So I told her to go to hell. And that brings me to where I am now. Sitting in a café, telling the waitress that no, I wasn't going to buy anything, no, I didn't have any money, and yes, if she tried to get rid of me I would snap her pretty blue spine in half like an oversized matchstick.

I slumped back into the chair dejectedly. First day in a new universe, and I get buttfucked by a race with no male reproductive organs. How the hell did that even work?

"The owner of this establishment seems quite concerned about your presence here," a familiar voice spoke behind me. I didn't bother to look, but my mouth curled into a snarl. "Yeah? Well we both seem to be having a bad day, don't we?"

The Justicar stepped into my field of view, eyes measuring me like a slide rule, gauging, calculating. I met the gaze with a fair amount of anger. The enemy was crossing my borders. My hand drifted sideways to my sidearm, a black Berretta 92fs. I wasn't going to use it, unless she pissed me off past the point of no return. In which case, I was happy that I always had a Last Will and Testament laid out in case of accidents on the job. "What do **you** want? Come to fuck me over some more, just because I did your job for you?"

Her expression remained tranquil. Not sure if that annoyed me more or not. "I came to apologize for my actions, human. Anyone who assists in the pursuit of justice should receive their dues. And I prevented you from claiming your reward for reasons that do not sit well with our code. I am ashamed."

She inclined her head slightly, expression still as unreadable as ever. I blinked, and my hand slackened around the handle of my pistol. "Is that so? Well your apology won't feed me, or clothe me, or offer me much of a comfort whatsoever."

I shrugged my shoulders, "But thanks, I guess. There aren't many people in my home town that would admit to their own mistakes. Takes a big person to do that."

"Something I am sure you are capable of also."

A strangled cough came from my mouth as I stifled a laugh. "Yeah, I don't think so."

"Modesty," she said, smiling knowingly.

"No, I'm just some guy, stuck a long way from home with no money, no friends and a fuckload of questions. That money was a long shot, but it was the only one I had."

Her fingers started drawing patterns on the surface of the café table. I watched as it went round and round, round and round. Wonder what else fingers like that can do, a part of myself asked roguishly. "There are other ways. Less dangerous ways. And the lengths you went to in order to capture her where….impressive."

She reached into a belt pouch and drew out a small object. With a wave of her hand and a few clicks, she summoned an orange display and started a small video clip playing. She slid it across the table, and I watched as I saw myself, vaulting from roof to roof on the broken antenna. I grinned in spite of myself. Damn, I should have signed up to become a stuntman.

Reaching forwards, I slid it back to her. She promptly turned it off and slipped it back into the pouch. "So I proved I'm nuts? Big surprise there."

Draping my arm over the back of the chair, I regarded her. She was okay, I guess for the alien version of the Gestapo. "Think what you want. Your opinion doesn't change the facts. I'm still stuck, with no cash, and no friends, on this shitty planet. No offence."

"Then maybe you wouldn't mind assisting me, in a matter of some importance? I will give you the full bounty, all thirty thousand credits."

I froze. My eyes might as well have turned into dollar signs and went cha-ching. She had my full attention, and I said as much, eyes slightly narrowed, mouth twisting up into a smile.

"Your weapon. It is not a conventional firearm, is it?"

"Nope, not here at least."

"Not here? Where would you find them?"

I considered the question. 2014 wasn't really a good answer. "You know, around the place. Why are you asking?"

Her hand once again disappeared into her belt pouch, and extracted a spent bullet casing. She placed it reverently on the table, and then another. One was 7.62, the other was 9 by 19 millimeter Parabellum.

Leaning over, I picked up the 7.62 and smelt the top. Cordite, fired recently. These must be mine, from the warehouse shootout. I put it down again, under her watchful gaze, and picked up the 9mm. This one was older. The smell of cordite wasn't there at all. And I hadn't discharged my 9mm since I got here. That spoke volumes to me. "The larger one is mine. The small one, don't know where that came from."

"Illium, a few hours ago. A Batarian mercenary was shot dead in an alleyway."

I kept a poker face. Maybe she thought I did it?

"A few hours? How did you manage to get one of the casings here in just a few hours?"

"It isn't a real…"casing". It's a 3D reconstruction built on data transmitted to me by a fellow Justicar."

My mind cleared. That explained why I could smell the cordite. And she had just admitted that no ship could travel fast enough between the two planets to ferry that casing, so by extension, that excluded me from the list of suspects. "So what do you want from me? A history lesson?"

"History lesson?" The Justicar inquired.

"Yeah, these guns are old. See, smell that."

I picked up my 7.62 casing off the table and held it to her nose. She sniffed dutifully, and her nose wrinkled. "That's the smell of cordite. Nitro, guncotton and petroleum jelly, all mixed up into one explosive batch of goodness. My rifle is pretty old, so it still uses that mix. But this…"

I pulled out my Berretta and laid that on the table. "This uses IMR. It's a mix of nitrocellulose and alcohol. Newer, more practical. But still old enough to have been used before humans discovered the mass relays."

"If it is so old, why are you using it?"

"Like I said, my finances are in the crapper at the moment. As for how I had these on hand, well…you would believe me if I told you."

The Justicar tapped the table, "I will decide what I can and cannot believe."

I shrugged, grinning like a loon. "Suit yourself. I'm from the year 2014. After a mercenary job gone bad, I passed out and woke up in the plaza in front of the Temple of Athame. No idea how I got here, or why. Do you believe that?"

The Justicar's eyes narrowed to match mine, and we had a silent battle of wills. "No, I do not. I have no real need to know in any event. Keep your secret it you must."

I almost guffawed with laughter.

Yeah blue,

If only you knew,

The depths of the lake,

You just wandered into.

"Is there anything you can tell me about the weapon that the killer used?"

I shrugged, "Hey, that bullet is common as shit. 9mm Parabellum rounds are….were used in loads of conventional firearms on Earth. How many casings did your Justicar friend find?"

"A conservative estimate? Thirty casings."

"Scattered around, or in one confined area?"

"In small piles. Scattered but concentrated."

I gestured to the pistol on the table. "If you found it in scattered single casings, you'd be looking for something like this. But in loose piles….that tells you two things. One, the gun was fully automatic."

Reaching over I picked up my pistol and ejected the clip, letting it fall into my hand. Then I racked the slid back to eject the chambered round. "You see that? How the bullet came out of the groove on the barrel of the weapon? That's where the casings come out. This is semi-automatic so the casings come out one at a time and scatter all over the place. But fully automatic? They sort of pile up, since they get ejected fast."

"I understand," she said, "The bullets tend to land in the same general area. And the second thing it tells me?"

"That your shooter is trained."

She frowned, and rubbed her bottom lip thoughtfully. "Your logic to support this being?"

"Most guys tooting this kind of firepower get all trigger happy. They pull the trigger and spray down the whole damn area with uncontrolled fire. The bullets land all over because the guy is constantly waving his gun around like John Rambo. A trained shooter aims from a stable stance, with short controlled bursts. The bullets land in small concentrated piles. Whoever fired the gun knew what they were doing."

She nodded thoughtfully. "Your logic is sound enough. What would a fully automatic weapon of this type look like?"

"No idea there. Could be anything from an Uzi to an MP5 to a G18. But none of them are too common these days I'd imagine. Just…." I waved my hand vaguely in the air, "Pull up a few pictures off the internet and look for someone with a weird gun. That's my advice."

The Justicar nodded, and smiled. "Extranet."

"What?" I asked, eyebrows furrowing.

"It's called the Extranet these days. I assume that Internet was what you humans used to call your version of it….back in 2014?"

A mischievous grin spread across my face. "Yeah, we also had this other thing we used to say back in the day. 'There is nothing that a few Benjamin's can't solve'. At least, that's what my dad always used to say."

She cocked her head to the side, "And what did that mean?"

"Means money will solve all your problems. And Justicar," I held out my arms expansively, "I got big problems right now."

She reached into her belt pouch once again, and extracted a grey chip about the size of a data stick. "One credit chit, all thirty thousand. I believe the human expression for this is, 'You reap what you sow'."

I took the chit, deciding to find out how to work it later. I could trust her to have put all thirty thousand on it. She was some sort of Jedi warrior or some-such after all. All heart and no brains.

"For the Po-Po, you're all right Justicar."

"Please," She said, inclining her head, "Call me Samara."

I nodded and smiled, "Pleasure to meet you. Call me Prince."

She stood and took the hand that I offered. We shook. Her hand was soft, like silk. I savored the touch, and gave her my best smile. All blindingly white teeth against black skin. "Take care of yourself, and thanks for the cash. You just helped me out of a big hole."

"Walk with the Goddess Prince, until next time."

With that, she left. And I leant back into my seat and smiled widely, fingering the chit in my pocket. Cha-ching.

"Sir, will you be ordering something now?"

"Yes," I glanced up at the Asari waitress with the smile I'd given Samara still fixed on my face, "Yes I will."

I ordered randomly off the menu and settled down to wait for it to arrive. Didn't know what many of the dishes listed where, but then again I was now rolling in thirty thousand bucks. Not bad.

My drink arrived, and I took a sip. Kind of fruity.

"This just in from the planet Torfan. Alliance forces have finally broken through to the planet's surface after steep resistance from occupying Batarian military. The first footage, live from the surface shows Batarian slavers holding several Alliance soldiers and one civilian hostage as Prisoners of War."

The fruit juice sprayed from my mouth as I caught sight of the news real playing above the café counter. I stared at the screen, hardly believing my eyes. Among the struggling Alliance soldiers being beaten by four eyed aliens, stood Dom King in combat fatigues. Loud and proud, he laid out two of the Batarians with crushing blows before one of the bastards got him in the back with a cattle prod. He went down struggling, as three of the aliens piled on top of him.

"Ohh shit!"

_(Scene Transition: Samara)_

Samara walked leisurely away from the café, pondering upon the human male. He was a contradiction in many ways. She was adept at reading people, of all races, genders and nationalities. But Prince….his vocabulary suggested a rather good education. His manners suggested that he was a common thug. His knowledge and bearing suggested his occupation to be a soldier, or maybe a simple mercenary. How did all these pieces fit together?

He also seemed to have a very prevalent sense of humor. Time travel indeed, she smiled privately. Her Omni-Tool beeped as a call came through, and Samara answered it immediately. "Yes?"

"Justicar Samara, the Asari that the human brought in!"

Samara winced as the shout almost ruptured her eardrums, "What seems to be the problem?"

"Her Omni-Tool is missing!"

The Justicar froze in place, her heart suddenly sinking like an anchor. "Her Omni-Tool? The Omni-Tool with the information on her associates, and the details regarding her illegal bank accounts? That Omni-Tool?"

"Yes! The human must have taken it!"

She spun on her heel immediately and barreled back the way she had come, through the thronging crowds that parted to allow the Justicar through. But when she got back to the café, all she found was an empty table, and an extremely angry owner, who demanded that she pick up the check for the human she had been talking with earlier. When they saw the look on her face however, the owner decided rather wisely, not to press the matter.


	6. Chapter 6

Here we are once again for the sixth chapter on the wonderful ride. I own nothing, except "Prince", Dom, Terry, Juan, Tannith…pretty much every damn thing that's appeared so far except Samara and the Temple of Athame. Yeah, in that case, I seem to own rather a lot.

**Chapter 6**

Now, on a good day I was a rather adept tactician. I could come up with some pretty impressive shit on the go, making up plans that suited the situation. They were usually simplistic, point A to point B plans, but they got the job done. And when you're coming up with strategies that your average grunt will have to follow, it pays to keep it simple. But there comes a time in every planner's life, when they just get so far out of their depth that anything they come up with has giant holes where you could fall through the cracks and pummel yourself to death on the rocks below. This was turning out to be one of those times.

"Hey, excuse me!"

"Hey you, do you know where the spaceport is?!"

"Will you fucking blue bitches hold on a second!?"

I dashed back and forth in the crowd, trying to attract someone's attention. But it was like hailing a cab at rush hour. In fact, I could swear that these Asari made the same whooshing sound as they zoomed past. I was reduced to swearing uselessly at their backs in a rage of pent up frustration.

"Use the VI terminal human!"

"What the hell?"

I turned around to look but my benefactor had already gone the way of the whoosh. VI Terminal?

That's right. In the game there were these annoying as shit blue holographic ladies dotted all over that space station. Casting my gaze around, I saw a lot of blue but none of it was holographic. "Fucking Aliens!"

I shouldered through the crowd and out into some unoccupied space. I breathed in, ridding myself of the intoxicating smell of Asari. I swear to god, those things must have some seriously overprotective pheromone glands. I swung left, then right, eyes scanning the surrounding area. Then I saw it. A line of VI terminals against a wall, Asari queuing up like humans would at an ATM back in my day.

The terminals in the game could do loads of things. Give you information on your surroundings, give you directions to the nearest one of those flying cars, and tell you all about AI's. That sort of shit. All of it completely unimportant except for learning useless background information that you didn't need to actually play the game. At the moment, standing in the queue, wedged between two Alien women, I was forlornly wishing that I had paid more attention to the story than just shooting shit.

But then again, I only got the game to pass time as my collage application went through. For a guy who'd been dodging bullets over in the Middle East for two years, standing around with my thumb up my ass while some white guy with spectacles poured over my application just wasn't my style. So I bought a game with good reviews of the net, and played it through once to take the edge off.

To be brutally honest, the game was wasted on me. It was just so…boring, compared to some of the things I'd done in Iraq. It was like I was in adrenaline withdrawal. So I packed a few bags, told my parents I was going to check up on friends, and booked myself a ticket on the next flight back out to Iraq. Gas companies were moving in to make appraisals all over the Middle East, despite the fact the war hadn't yet drawn to a complete halt. They were paying good money for mercenaries like me, with prior military experience to go out into the thick of it and guard their investments.

Every single guy I knew who didn't have a rap sheet to hold him back was strapping up and heading out to oblige them. A few more jobs I told myself, a few more jobs and I'd have enough to put myself through college. It didn't take me long to realize that I wasn't really going out for the money anymore. Sure, the pay was good. It was great even. But what I was really after was the rush, the adrenaline high.

I went out for the same reason that blood sports exist, or why people go out hunting for recreation. Out there, amidst all those flying pieces of lead and shrapnel, I felt like I could take on the world. Same reason why I threw my lot in with Dom and his gang. It wasn't enough for me to simulate breaking stuff. I wanted to go out there and break shit for real.

"Will the next in line please step forward?"

I blinked, and hauled my wandering behind back into the present. The VI terminal was staring into the middle distance with what I assumed was the Asari version of a smile. Well, it did look like one, put to me it just seemed patronizing. "I need to get to Torfan. How do I find a ship that will take me there?"

A few people in neighboring terminals glanced sideways at me, expressions saying all too clearly, 'what the fuck, is this guy for real?'

"According to my data banks, Torfan is registered as a Class A hot zone. Civilian presence is severely discouraged by the Citadel Council."

I scowled, "Just tell me where I can get a plane ticket or some shit to another planet bolts-for-brains. I got shit to do, and I've already been standing around in this queue for far too god-damned long!"

"Scans of your Omni-Tool indicate that you are the owner of a Corvette class vessel currently docked in Bay Three of the Calderris Ward. Uploading directions to your Omni-Tool."

A small ding from my pocket made me lift my arm away from my side to look at the strap of the Omni-Tool I'd stolen. I grasped it and pulled the rest from the recesses of my pants pocket. The holographic display bloomed outwards and showed me a map of what I assumed to be my surroundings, with a route clearly mapped out for me.

"Ship? I don't own any ship."

Then my thought processes caught up with the rest of my brain. This was the Asari's Omni-Tool, which meant that it was her ship that the VI was recognizing. Ohh, just hell yes!

I grinned at the VI and nodded in satisfaction. "Now that's more like it."

"If you enjoyed using this Serrice model VI, please share your satisfaction with your friends and family."

"I'll be sure to tell them if we don't all end up dead," I shouted back to it as I vanished back into the crowd. The Asari in the surrounding terminals gave each other significant looks.

"Crazy humans. What are you going to do, right?"

_(Scene Transition: Docking Bay Three, Calderris Ward)_

Now, the important thing about plans, the really important thing, is that you have to know details. You can't just build a house from thin air, so why would constructing a plan work differently? To construct a plan you need bricks and mortar, in the form of geographical layouts and facts. A prime example of the relationship between facts and plans: If I had known that the Asari authorities had been extremely alarmed by my theft of the Omni-Tool, I might have been able to plan for their reprisal. If I'd known that the Asari I had apprehended in the name of my wallet had actually been a high profile mercenary leader with fingers in all kinds of cakes, I'd have guessed that her ship would be under lock and key. If I'd known that Docking Bay 3 on the Calderris Ward held enough space to house several dozen different ships I'd have probably tried to get more precise directions.

But I didn't know shit, so I wandered in blindly, like a fool. But, when a friend's life is hanging in the balance, and you're the only person who can save them, you tend to become a little reckless. And when you're a reckless adrenaline junky on an alien world, armed with an AK and a few gallons of bloody-minded warmongering, you tend to make decisions based on emotions instead of logic. But you have reckless adrenaline junkies, and then you have Prince, aka me.

When someone like me has boots on the ground trying to pull their friends out of the fire, you can guaranty that I'll get the job done, or die trying.

My footsteps echoed around the high hanger walls, as I walked along the rows of ships, looking for anything to tell me where the ship I was looking for was. There were white ones, black ones, big ones, small ones. Ships of all shapes and sizes, but none of the ones I'd seen gave off the feel of being owned by a dangerous criminal. I could just go and ask. New ships coming and going would have to be logged by some kind of administration. But what would I tell them exactly?

Hey, this is a bit fucked up and all, but I forgot where my ship is after getting high as a kite last night. Would you scan my Omni-Tool, ignoring the fact that it's supposed to belong to a five foot seven blue chick, and tell me where the aforementioned ship is in this god-damn hanger?

Yeah, that would go over real well. The words "arrested" and "immediately" would drift together and gang up on me. That left one option that didn't include wasting all the time that Dom might not even have. Grab on tight to my big black balls and wing it. Not an entirely unexpected last resort, I'd practically been winging it since the moment I got here.

I found a sign that pointed me in the direction of Administration and followed the handy red line painted on the floor for me. I strolled casually into the office, walked right past the two aliens in line, and got all up in the face of the Asari at the desk.

"Hey, you!"

She looked up, startled from her terminal screen by my harsh bark. "Yeah, you! Scan this Omni-Tool and tell me where the ship registered to it is."

She blinked and scowled, "I'm sorry, but you'll have to step back and join the back of the line. All enquiries will be addreMmmmh!"

Before she could finish the sentence I flicked the safety off on my 9mm and jammed it between her still moving lips. "This nigger came in here for one thing and one thing only. And I really don't have time to be arguing."

My voice would have frozen lava. Her eyes went wide, and her hands shot up in the universal gesture of "Please Don't Put A Cap In My Ass". I heard a muffled squeal from behind me, and the in drawing of breath through a helmet filter. Looking back, I fixed the two other occupants of the office with an intimidating glare. "Asari, buckethead! Sit your happy asses down on the floor!"

The Asari and the Quarian immediately obeyed, both flopping backwards as fast as they were physically able. I turned back to the receptionist, and smiled. "I'm going to remove my gun, and you're going to do your upmost not to press any hidden panic buttons or scream for help. You know, annoying shit that might make my trigger finger twitch. Sound cool?"

She nodded, a few tears dribbling down her cheeks. She was pretty actually, like most Asari. The kind of face that made men's hearts twinge with protective instinct if they saw it in pain. The kind of breasts that made other parts twinge also. I removed the muzzle of the gun from her mouth, and she stayed stock still. "We don't have any money here. This is just an administrative office."

"Good thing I'm not after money then, isn't it?"

I placed the Omni-Tool on the counter with my free hand, as I glanced back to make sure the two aliens were still on the ground. They were, but the buckethead was staring at me. My eyes narrowed. Prisoners didn't stare if they knew what was good for them. And I could see planning going on behind that glass window, something that I didn't like my hostages participating in. He was dressed in a green suit, dark green with patches of black. "Eyes down if you know what's good for you buckethead. Or I'll put so many bullet holes in that suit that your death will be a tossup between blood loss and smallpox!"

I held his gaze for a second, then smiled in satisfaction as he looked back at the ground. Never trust anyone when you can't see their face. First rule of the hood. Everyone might put a bullet in you if they didn't like the way you looked. Once again back to the receptionist. "You tell me where the ship registered to that Omni-Tool is, or you get one bullet right in the head. Clear?"

She reached forward and snatched the Omni-Tool, typing furiously on her terminal. I watched her hand movements and her eyes closely. She was reading something off the Omni-Tool, and cross-checking it with the information on the terminal. Not sending a message to the Po-Po as far as I could tell. The other Asari was crying quietly into the floor, and the Quarian had placed a reassuring hand on her arm. "Fucking arms out in front of you buckethead!"

I pointed my gun and he stoically withdrew his arm.

"It's docked in slot sixty-four!"

The receptionist had finished.

"Where is slot sixty four?"

She licked her lips, which moved soundlessly as her mind went through some inner turmoil. I couldn't tell if she was going into shock or she was holding something back from me. I lifted the muzzle of the gun back upwards and pointed it at her forehead. "If you know something you're not telling me, I will find out. I've been lied to by, and lying too experts for years."

"The Quarian," she whispered, eyes flickering between my face and the enviro-suited alien on the floor. "He works on that ship. He's their mechanic and pilot. He can take you to it!"

I glance back at the buckethead who made no attempt to avoid my gaze this time around, and back to her for the last time. Her tears were streaming now, and her face was contorted in panic and fear. All very standard behavior for a hostage. But her hands weren't in the air anymore. They were on her lap. Prisoners didn't put down their hands unless they wanted to do something with them. And she had finished typing.

"You pressed the panic button didn't you?!"

Her eyes went wide, and I caught the distinct smell of bullshit approaching. "No! I swear, I didn't!"

"Like fuck!" I pointed my 9mm and pulled the trigger once. A chunk of flesh and purple blood smattered itself all over the floor behind her, and the sharp clink of a spent casing was heard over her sudden cry of pain. "Like fuck you didn't," I bellowed again. "When a brother with a gun tells you not to do something, you don't fucking do it! Understand?!"

She didn't reply. Well, she did if a wail of abject terror and pain could be counted as a comprehensible reply. I turned to the Asari and the Quarian. "You," I said, pointing to the other Asari, "Take care of that dumb bitch! And you!"

I switched my attention to the Quarian as the Asari scurried past. He stared at me through the almost opaque screen of his helmet, his gaze drawn to the 9mm pistol that now I now used to draw a bead on his forehead.

"Take me to the ship."


	7. Chapter 7

Blah, blah, blah. I own nothing.

**Chapter 7**

_(Perspective: Fass'Nigh nar Qwib-Qwib)_

The unfairness of it all was what really annoyed Fass'Nigh. He'd woken up as he always did in the mornings, had breakfast, rubbed down the exterior of his suit with cleaning agents so strong they could cut through any amount of grease and ship oil, and then hoisted his tool bag onto his shoulder. All very routine, all very normal. Then he had bashed his head against the lintel of his door as he walked out of his cabin. Also very normal. For a Quarian he was very tall and gangly. To the extent that, when he had been growing up on the Qwib-Qwib, he had to have envirosuits specially customized to accommodate his freakishly tall stature.

He hardly even bothered lifting his hand to his forehead. His tolerance for pain in that area had long surpassed what was strictly speaking, normal. It helped when the Asari who owned the ship he was currently working on decided to take out her frustrations on him. And her crew, and the docking workers, and the local law enforcement. Keelah, out in the real world, out of the confines of his home ship, he was everyone's favorite punching bag. He was a soft spoken person by nature, the community mindedness of his race, a boon in the confines of the Migrant Fleet, was a curse to him out here.

Violence just didn't come easily to him. Though he wished it would, it never did. And then, as he stepped out of the ship, the catwalk creaked menacingly under foot. He stepped carefully around that particular spot. Every damn day, he snarled internally. He had told the administration office multiple times that a dilapidated catwalk like that posed a serious health and safety risk. But they didn't listen. He tossed up the possible reasons for this in his head: Maybe they were low on resources? Or maybe because it was a Quarian who told them? Who really knew except them?

And he was dead set against going back to the administration office and making another complaint. He couldn't stand the way that they could manage to look down upon him, even though he was physically taller than every single one of them. These thoughts swirled around his head as they always did, mixed with daydreams of retaliation and complex mechanical diagrams. It sat there in his head, simmering away like some kind of caustic soup that once eaten would completely dissolve your internal organs. So when the Asari make the rounds of the Docking Bay put a foot through the surface of the catwalk, and then shouted at him for spilling corrosive materials on the metal, he'd snapped.

And he snapped in the only way that a community minded Quarian pilgrim mechanic could. He went to lodge a complaint with the proper authorities. In this way, it can safely be theorized that Quarians and Canadians must be related somewhere along the evolutionary ladder.

Then, interestingly enough, his trip to lodge an irritated complaint at the administration office lead to him being hog marched from the office by a crazy black human with a gun. Hence, unfairness.

"Please don't hurt me."

"Shut the fuck up buckethead," the human rumbled menacingly, "just do what I tell you to do and keep your mouth shut unless I ask you something. Sound good?"

It didn't sound good. It did not sound good at all. "Not really."

"Well tough shit. Which way to the ship?"

"Left."

They turned left.

"So, why didn't the police come after you buckethead? Not important enough, or did you rat out your buddies?"

The human pronounced the word police with a very overt emphasis on the "Po". It was disconcerting.

"What? I haven't done anything wrong!"

"Bullshit. You're the pilot and mechanic for a group of mercenaries with a price on their heads. You have to have done something wrong."

Fass'Nigh's heart sped up a few beats per second. Which meant his heart was now beating faster than the hand of a man who hadn't masturbated or had sex in several months. "I never did anything other than repair their ship. They never told me they were doing anything illegal!"

"So you're pleading "Dumb Motherfucker" in court?"

The human looked him up and down, towering over him despite Fass' relatively great height. "Could work for you, I guess."

"Why are you doing this to me?!"

"Because," The human explained with a hint of exasperation, "I need to get somewhere to help a friend, and I need to be there as soon as possible."

Fass rolled this over in his head for a few seconds. "And you do this by shooting an office worker, kidnapping a pilot and stealing a ship?!"

The chuckle that issued from between his lips, followed by a glimpse of healthy white teeth chilled the Quarian to the bone. A distressing smile like that shouldn't be allowed in polite society. "Hey, it's always worked out for me before."

They approached slot sixty-four as Fass calculated the likelihood of his survival. It wasn't very optimistic. "Open it up, and get this hunk of metal into the air buckethead."

Yeah, less than optimistic. "I can't."

Fass whispered the words in the slow and terrified voice of a man who had climbed half way up the mountain, and then realized that his gear had fallen off ages ago, and he hadn't noticed until now.

"Can't?" The human asked dangerously. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean buckethead?"

"The Docking Bay doors are sealed, and the clamps are locked in place. It's part of the lockdown protocol."

He suddenly found himself spun around and forced against the railing. It moaned under the weight. The humans face was inches from his visor, rage the most prevalent emotion present in his expression. "Well you better think of a way to unlock it asshole, or you're getting a face full of lead!"

"FREEZE!"

Yeah, rage. That was most definitely rage. The human yanked him back from the railing and into the path of the two Asari officers now converging on them down the length of the catwalk. Their uniforms, matte black with some white highlights, were crumpled and disheveled, as if they had been running for a great distance. Their expressions were harried. Nevertheless, their aim never strayed.

"Drop your weapons, or I shot the buckethead!"

The Asari both slowed their advance to a crawl, weapons still raised and trained securely at them. "Drop **your** weapons human. There is no way out for you or the Quarian!"

"Me?!" Fass screamed, "I didn't do anything! This madman is holding me hostage!"

"An innocent Quarian?" The foremost Asari sneered, "Please, don't make me laugh. I'll ask you once more, drop your weapons!"

"I've got a hostage you stupid fucker. Ground your weapons!"

They kept on coming, one foot in front of the other, showing absolutely no intention of putting down their guns.

The human's gravelly voice sounded in Fass'Nigh's ear, "I'm starting to think taking you as a meat shield was a shitty idea."

"No arguments there," Fass replied with a sinking feeling in his gut. If the human didn't let him go and give himself up, the Asari might just shoot Fass out of hand. Put it off to collateral damage in the pursuit of justice or some such. To say he was terrified would be an understatement. He had gone well beyond terrified. He was floating serenely on the calm waters of utter, hopeless terror.

"You want to help me out here then, buckethead? Were both fucked, might as well put differences aside for a while."

"Are you joking?" Fass muttered back, "You just took me hostage! And you shot that office worker! Keelah knows what else you've done."

"Look," he said, his voice laced with a fair amount of panic, "For a kidnapper, I've been awfully nice. I only threatened you the minimal amount, and I didn't shoot your happy ass despite your mouthing off. These guys want to arrest you for no reason, and the receptionist ratted you out. Who are you more inclined to trust here?!"

Fass considered the proposition. In all reality, it would be better to turn himself in if it meant getting away from the unknown and potentially dangerous entity that was this human. It was the logical thing to do. It was the smart thing to do. But the lake of vindictive, biting spitefulness that he felt towards these Asari…the level of hatred he had for them. For their contempt, for their entitlement, for their bigotry. It flowed up inside him, like the fires of hell itself, ready to burn anyone it could get its hands on just for the sake of getting back at the world in general.

As all people when anger starts guiding their actions, Fass do something unreservedly stupid. But at the same time, it was clear and vibrant and alive for the first time in his life. It was the perfect revenge.

"The walkway. The section right in front of them is weak. People have put their feet through it more than once."

There was a pause, and then a chuckle. "Thank you buckethead. If you get shot, I might actually feel bad about it now."

Then Fass felt a hand on his shoulder, forcing him down. Gunfire rang out across the hanger, ear numbingly loud. Something metallic clinked off the back of his helmet, bouncing off and down into the pit below. Then the rending of metal. Screams, a harsh cry from above him. Then nothing except grunts of pain behind him. He waited for a few heartbeats, eyes still screwed tightly shut. Then, after he worked up the courage, Fass opened his eyes.

No Asari. For that matter, no section of catwalk where they used to be. It was far below on the lowest level of the Docking Bay, smashed to bits along with its unfortunate former occupants. "Keelah," he whispered, his eyes glued to the sight, far below over the side of the railing.

"Little help here."

Fass turned and saw the human, spread out on the catwalk. Red blood leaked from his left side, through the tough black vest he wore over his T-shirt. "Jesus fuck that hurts!"

"How did you do that?! I only heard gunshots! How…!"

"Lucky," the human mumbled, "I was trying to just shoot them before they shot me. They both dived for cover. I guess the catwalk couldn't take the strain."

He propped himself up on an elbow, clamping a hand over the wound. "Bulletproof vest my ass."

"Here," Fass shouldered the human's free arm, hauling him onto his feet, "I have to get you onto the ship. Others will be coming soon. They'll have to get here through the other entrance to the hanger to get past the missing catwalk. It bought us some time."

"I thought we couldn't escape. Lockdown and all the shit," the human grumbled, making his discomfort abundantly clear.

"I have a cutting torch. Weakening the docking clamps enough for them to break when we juice the engines will be easy. The Docking Bay doors though….they could be a problem."

The human started laughing, a throaty sound that actually seemed very genuine, despite the circumstances. "For someone who ain't ever done anything wrong, you sure are quick with the getaway plan."

Fass opened and closed his mouth a few times, the guileless 'Ohh', of a decent man caught with his pants down escaped between his lips. "I'm really not a criminal. I've never done anything wrong in my life…well, not up until today at least," he finished lamely.

The odd pair reached the doors of the docked corvette, and Fass tried halfheartedly to flick the hatch open with the human still propped up on his shoulder. He almost lost his balance. "Just prop me up against the side of the ship buckethead. I don't want my ride out of this mess breaking his shoulders."

"Okay. You sure you can stand?"

"Just do it. I can last a few second without a fucking crutch."

Relieved of the burden of two-hundred pounds of human, Fass flicked the handle and slammed his hand down on the release button next to it. There was a hiss, and the clank of metal pins retracting from their seating. He pulled the perfectly balance metal door open and allowed the human to stager into the decontamination chamber in front of him. "You need some medi-gel. I'll get some after we're off the surface."

"Forget that shit. How long do you need to weaken the docking clamps?"

Fass licked his lips, estimating quickly. "The clamps are made from titanium, encasing several electromagnetic strips. All I have to do to weaken them is cut the electrical lines that feed some of the strips. Around ten minutes, roughly?"

"Where's the armory on this tin can then? You'll need someone to keep them off your ass while you work."

"You're in no condition to fight! You just got shot!"

The human laughed, and then coughed wetly. A fine red mist splattered on the ground at his feet, and a string of saliva and blood hung from his slightly parted lips. "It's a gunfight buckethead, people get shot. That's the whole fucking point of having a god-damn gunfight in the first place. Where's the guns?"

"You're bleeding into your lungs. The bullet must have nicked one."

He reached forwards to try and get a closer look at the human's side, but a huge brown hand gripped his wrist. "Don't fucking babysit me buckethead! I'll deal, all right?"

"Okay," Fass said quietly, retrieving his hand. "The gun racks are down the corridor to the left, second door down the first right-heading corridor."

The human's lips moved for a second as Fass opened up the second door, a long continuous beep telling them that the decontamination cycle had completed. He shook his head, lips curling up into a frustrated snarl. "You give terrible directions. Just show me."

They hurried down the corridor to the left, then turned right, and stopped outside the second door. Fass immediately slid back a small plate that concealed a keypad, and started pressing buttons. The door itself had no handle, so the concealed keypad was the only method of opening the reinforced metal door. It always paid to be paranoid with your weapons.

Another set of metal clanks as the metal rods that held the door closed withdrew. "If this is what doors are like in the future, I wonder what the bank vaults are like," the human muttered. He shouldered past Fass, pushing the door open. "Where's the lights buckethead?"

That name was really starting to ware on the Quarians nerves, but he reached into the room and hit the button on the wall. Immediately, the lighting strips on the ceiling buzzed, and the racks of armaments were revealed. Whole racks of assault rifles, shotguns and pistols. Boxes stacked high, with labels denoting them to be full of grenades, ammo blocks, weapon mods and armor. Several sniper rifles were held in weapons lockers with transparent fronts to keep their optics safe. And at the end of the rows of weapons, stood a table. On top of which, lay the heavy weapons. Two grenade launchers, one rocket launcher, and one M-76 Revenant.

The human's eyes drank it in, as a small drop of blood slid from between his lips and hung precariously from his chin. Fass waited, hypnotized by the blood, waiting for the spell to be broken. Then, leaving only a trail against brown skin, the drop fell, and splattered on the floor. The blood's owner stepped forwards, combat boots echoing around the room. He stepped up to the table full of heavy weaponry, and ran a hand over the contents. "What I could have done in Iraq with a couple of these," he whispered, awed by the sight before him.

Then his accent suddenly changed to a southern drawl, as he hefted the Revenant in one meaty fist. "This is where the guns live, come get you some!"

He turned back to Fass and stepped up to him, looking down into the helmet as the Quarian lent back, dwarfed by the African American giant.

"Get your ass in gear buckethead, and get that torch you were talkin' 'bout."

His smile showcased bloodstained teeth, "We got some **Po**lice to kill."


	8. Chapter 8

Here we are again, once more into the breach. Before we continue, I just want to thank all of the great people who've supported this endeavor. RosoMC and XRaiderV1, you guys are top of the list. As always, I own nothing except my assorted original characters. Forward!

**Chapter 8**

"How is there no records of this human?! Travel to and from this planet is strictly prohibited, is it not? Or did that change while I wasn't looking?!"

The rage of the senior officer on site outside Docking Bay 3 spread outwards through the ranks of the fast response team assembled. They kept their faces completely blank, and in that simple non-action a trained observer could guess at their anxiety. The Asari glaring at them as she, let us for the sake of easy cultural integration refer to her as "The Lieutenant", cycled through the screens on her Omni-Tool. Camera feeds, terrain details, an analysis on the perpetrator. It was the later of these that gave her pause. Due to the relatively dangerous nature of Thessia's eezo rich environment, logs had to be kept of people coming on and off the planet's surface.

Every non-Asari had to be tracked and filed for reasons of health and safety, customs and excise and Council blackwatch. It was an extensive and well-oiled process, and for anyone to slip through undetected was a serious breach in protocol. There current suspect was one such offender. Human male, classified as "African-American", tall, dark hair.

Went by the alias "Prince". A mercenary if the Lieutenant ever did see one.

"A threat analysis of the target," the lieutenant began, drawing the attention of her assembled team, "Carried abnormal, sub-standard weaponry when first encountered. Is at least proficient in hand to hand combat. Physical fitness and strength is to be considered above-normal. Willingness to kill is classed as high. Possibly mentally unhinged."

She swept her gaze left and right, taking in the reaction. There were none. Very professional, very good. "Camera feeds suggest that he has already obtained a large amount of high grade weaponry and armor from within a ship docked in the Bay. It is suspected that the hostage he took, a Quarian named Fass'Nigh has been convinced to work with him. They have fortified their location with explosives. The area is of this moment considered unsafe for all personnel not issued with armor and a shield unit."

She sent a penetrating glance sideways to the two leaders heading this operation with her. An Asari commando possessing considerable experience with explosive ordinance disposal, and, oddly enough, a Justicar. Introduced as Samara, she had admitted to having spoken and practical contact with the perpetrator. It was her account of the experiences with the human that built the analysis they now read. Sketchy at best, downright unworkable at the worst.

"We'll send in a negotiator first to keep them distracted while we move sharpshooters into position at the maintenance hatches running above the Bay. Would anyone like to volunteer as our face?"

No-one moved. They usually drew lots for jobs like this.

"I would."

Eyes were drawn to the Justicar, who stepped forwards almost immediately. The Lieutenant sighed. She had the utmost respect for the Justicar order of course, but sometimes they didn't really grasps the important concepts presented to them. "Can't do that. With all due respect, you're a walking tank. If they see you coming in they'll open fire immediately and damn the consequences. Officer T'Nari, you have the most experience negotiating with humans. I'm volunteering you."

The Officer nodded, and pulled off a crisp salute. Samara, remaining as impassive as always, insisted that she be stationed closer to the entrance to the Bay should anything go wrong. The Lieutenant reluctantly agreed. In fact, it might even pay to have such a powerful biotic on hand. A safety net in case of unseen variables. The goddess only knew what hells they would have to push through in order to detain this human.

_(Scene Transition: Officer T'Nari)_

T'Nari stepped through the entrance to the Docking Bay, casting a grim look backwards to her two compatriots who, with the Justicar, would stay there and secure the exit. They returned the glance reassuringly. She breathed in, and out, set her face into a blank mask, and walked forwards. The hallway was painted a cheery golden yellow, a few widescreens placed at convenient intervals, providing news feeds and other such essentials to the weary traveler. She caught a glimpse of the recent escalation of conflict on Torfen.

Humans and Batarians: Each one of the most troublesome races in the galaxy. Sometimes she was truly grateful that Thessia had laws to keep off-worlders away. Everything was so much more peaceful, so much easier to adapt to. Then things like this happened, and the balance was thrown out of alignment. Asari didn't deserve this. They were peace-loving people. They barely had an armed forces or a law enforcement because of it. And now other races where turning up and ruining their home. It wasn't right.

The hallway opened out into the vastness of the docking Bay, and she made a beeline for her destination. It wasn't very hard, even if she hadn't been given directions, she just followed the sound of the cutting torch. And when she got really close, she even started noticing bullet holes and missing catwalks. It looked like someone had decided remodeling would be much more efficient utilizing a grenade or two.

"Hello? I am unarmed! I'm coming to negotiate!"

The sound of the cutting torch abruptly cut out. They knew she was here now. "I'm coming in. Do not shoot or official retribution will be swift and final!"

Then there was the clank of metal shod boots, and a tall figure poked itself around the corner of the ship in front of her, a very large gun nestled in its very large hands.

"Boo motherfucker!"

She jumped back, hands already above her head but feeling the need to hold them higher. The figure stepped forward, muzzle of the gun fixed unwaveringly on her forehead. "Where's your gun bitch?"

"I came in unarmed, as per the grounds of criminal negotiations."

The weapon, an M-76 Revenant, gestured for her to turn around. "Spin blue. Hold your hands up high and your legs apart."

She did as instructed, slowly spinning in place so he could scrutinize all the possible places she could be hiding a weapon. But there was nothing there. The outfit she was wearing was specially designed for negotiations with enemy forces. It afforded no obvious places to hide weaponry. Just to smooth the process somewhat in the hopes of peaceful resolution. Something the Asari were big on.

"Stop."

She did, once more facing the tall human in front of her. He was wearing a full set of Onyx armor, a rather old set but still very much operational. It was heavily armored, and the weight must have been considerable. The report on this one must have been accurate when it said his strength was above average.

"Keep cutting Buckethead! I'll deal with this!"

And the Quarian was indeed working with him instead of his hostage. He stepped closer, his face expressionless except for a slight tightening of the lips. The cutting resumed itself as they stared at each other, shifting their weight and sizing the other up.

"I am Officer T'Nari, a negotiator for Thessia's law enforcement service. I've come to hear your demands, and discuss the return of the data you stole."

She tucked her hands behind her back, and stood up straight as an arrow. This was an Asari custom, a sign of respect for the party she was debating with. He didn't seem to have read the rule book however. "Hands where I can fucking see them tentacle head. What data? I shot a receptionist sure, I even kidnaped a Quarian who's working for me now because you stupid fucks tried to shoot him while I was using him as a meat shield. But I never stole no data."

She grimaced at the mention of the attempted murder of a civilian. It could be easily swept under the rug, and no-one would much care for the Quarian even if the information did make it out into the public. But it was still bad practice. Shooting a hostage just because they happened to be the wrong race was just sloppy.

"I apologize profusely for the actions of those Officers. I assure you they do not represent the ideals or moral standards of our department…."

She was about to steer the conversation towards more important issues, like the Omni-Tool stolen from their suspect, but before she could, the cutting torch stopped again, and there was a the angry clomping of metal boots. Fass'Nigh, the Quarian slash former hostage pushed past the human and cocked back his arm. It was an unexpected move, and even with her training assisting her, she only managed to negate some of the blows force by twisting away. The punch still laid her out flat on her back.

"They do not represent the ideal or morals of your department?! Is that all you have to say after the hell you people put me through!?"

The Quarian was standing above her arms held out to the sides like some form of gorilla, looking incredibly menacing. His stature was impressive. Not as impressive as the human, but nevertheless, very tall and in quite good shape.

"An entire year of my life I spent on this planet! I thought your species would be decent to me. I mean you are all diplomats and negotiators right!? But noooo, everyone knows the Quarians are a bunch of savages! Everyone knows they can't be trusted! Everyone knows they're thieves and criminals! The only reason I got a job with these mercenaries was because no respectable employer would hire me! I've forgotten more about mechanical engineering then they would ever know!"

He kicked her shin viciously, prompting a cry from her, and a laugh from the human.

"Damn buckethead, you sound like you might be a brother under that helmet!"

Fass whirled around like a hurricane, "MY NAME IS FASS'NIGH NAR QWIB-QWIB! NOT BUCKETHEAD!"

Prince blinked, "What kind of fuckin' name is Qwib-Qwib?"

The Quarian held up a finger menacingly under Princes nose, but the effect was spoiled somewhat by the fact he had to reach upwards to do it. "My name is not buckethead. I'm tired of people looking at me and only seeing this helmet. I'm just like you under here!"

Prince blinked again, "Just like me? Man you're a fucking alien! Get back to the escape plan! You know, the one we have to get away from the army of Po-Po that are trying to knock our asses into oblivion? Remember them?"

Fass waved his finger around, eyes narrowed behind his helmet visor. "Fass'Nigh nar Qwib-Qwib!"

Prince pointed behind him to the ship, "Fix the fucking dingy Qwib-Qwib!"

Fass shoulder past him once again, "Fass'Nigh nar Qwib-Qwib!"

"I am not saying that!"

"It's my name!"

Prince turned away fully from the Asari as she got up from the ground, wondering just what kind of dysfunctional relationship she had stumbled upon. "You know what? I'm just gonna call you Face from now on! Just shut the fuck up and do what I told you to do!"

"That is not my name!"

"Tough shit! Get the damn ship working Face!"

He turned back to her as numerous Khelish curse words came drifting through the air, over the sound of the cutting torch. "Now," Prince continued, "Where the fuck were we before you got your ass kicked?"

"The data you stole, along with the Omni-Tool of the Asari mercenary you helped apprehend."

His eyebrows jumped upwards, and a small smile spread across his face. "No shit?"

He reached into his pocket and extracted the Omni-Tool, weighing it in his hand. It was the Omni-Tool the Justicar was looking for. A silver bracelet composed of a metal strip that housed the electronics and two straps that could fasten it to the arm. A standard Polaris model from Kassa Fabrications. "So not only did this thing supply me with a ship and a pilot, it also has valuable information on it. I would say I was lucky, but if I was lucky I wouldn't be stuck on this shithole of a planet. So what are you willing to agree to if I hand it over?"

T'Nari paused. She hadn't been told what concessions to give. She was just a distraction for the snipers after all. "We might be inclined to be lenient with your charges. A reduction in your jail sentence possibly, a chance to be assigned to a minimum security prison maybe."

He opened his mouth to respond, a smirk plastered across his features, and a gunshot rung out across the hanger. The force of a grain of metal, propelled at well above four times the speed of sound is substantial. It carries a lot of kinetic energy behind it. A bullet from the M-92 Mantis is especially powerful.

Prince was lifted off his feet and slammed sideways into the side of the ship he had jumped from behind at the start of their initial encounter. T'Nari dove for cover, endeavoring to get well out of the hanger before the strike team moved in. She didn't want to be around when the Justicar turned up. Biotic explosions were definitely not part of her to-do list. She erected a hasty biotic barrier around herself, and legged it.

_(Scene Transition: Prince)_

"You better run you lying biotic bitch!"

I coughed as more blood came oozing out of my mouth, and staggering into cover as another well placed round smacked into the ship where my head had been not a second before. A chip of metal from the impact cut me on the cheek, but the shear agony coming from my side overpowered all other sensations. A few cracked ribs definitely. The bullet had gone right through the shields, and into the hardsuit underneath. Fortunately, it hadn't penetrated to the flesh.

"Face?! You good!?"

There was a clatter, and the Quarian's head poked around the side of the ship, cautiously scoping out his location. "Are you hurt?"

"Yes I'm hurt you dumbass! There are snipers somewhere, I don't have eyes on!"

The Quarian peered at me, ducking slightly as another bullet struck his cover. "You look like you have eyes!"

"What?"

Then, I realized that I was talking to an alien. And that the alien in question didn't understand military jargon. "Can you see the fucker who shot me or not?!"

"No! But I finished cutting the docking clamps!"

I laughed, and immediately coughed up another dribble of blood. "Ohh great! Now we can just walk onto the ship and fly away! The entrance is on this side Face! We'll get shot if we go for the door now!"

The Quarian hunkered down as more bullets flew overhead. "What do we do?!"

I considered this question. Well if I was back in Iraq, Juan and me would suppress the enemy while Dom and 2K would do their best to find a flanking position. But none of them where here. All I had was an untrained buckethead alien and, of course myself. "Well if you have a gun, some suppressing fire would be appreciated!"

Another gunshot, and this time there was a yelp from Face. "Are you hurt?!"

"No, but I know where they are! They're in the maintenance hatchways above us!"

"What do they look like?!"

"Hatchways human! What do you think a hatchway looks like!?"

I grimaced and glared at the corner he had been looking around a minute before, and briefly poked my head out, eyes scanning the roof quickly. There! Above us there was the telltale glint of a rifle optic. Withdrawing my head as another bullet smacked into the catwalk, I shouted to Face, "I got eyes!"

"You never lost them!"

"Ohh shut the fuck up!"

Edging away from the corner, I moved sideways down the length of the ship and breathed deeply. All those patrols in the Middle East. All that combat, now was the only time I felt grateful for being assigned as the Automatic Rifleman. Suppressing fire was a cakewalk.

I stood in a flash and mounted the Revenant, sighting briefly down the barrel as I did so. Then I gave the trigger a gentle squeeze. The hatchway was suddenly pockmarked with small impact marks as the Revenant fulfilled its unknowing purpose as a squad support weapon. I fired in bursts, six or seven rounds with a pause in-between to let the weapon cool off. "Fuckers! You just try and shoot at me now bitches, I fucking dare you!"

This was the first step. To get their heads down, so Face could get onto the ship and get the engines warmed up. Something I shouted at him as soon as there was a break in the fire. More gunfire from the hatchways, then there was a blinding flash of blue light from further back down the walkway. The door to the Docking Bay flew over the railings and down into the pit below, bent and twisted as if a giant had bitch-slapped it.

"Ohh shit," I whispered. Samara strode into sight, a blue biotic aura covering almost her entire body. It was almost hard to tell who she was under that glow. This was new. Never had to deal with this shit in Iraq.

I backed away, holstering the Revenant and reaching for my other weapon. I'd taken one of the grenade launchers as insurance, just in case the Po-Po brought up the big guns. If this wasn't a big gun situation, I didn't fucking know what was.

The heavy weapon clicked, whirred, and expanded outwards in my hands, becoming the size of an M-32. But Samara wasn't a Justicar for nothing. Biotic blue wrapped itself around my chest, and I found myself flying through the air. And not the pansy ass biotic push I'd experienced from the Asari criminal I'd stolen the Omni-Tool from. This was the real shit. The painful shit. The kind of shit that leaves a brother in hospital, with his spine jammed into his ass.

My arm struck the corner of my new ship as I flew past, and snapped like a twig even with the armor I was wearing. Then I made impact on the catwalk surface, and more shit broke. A lot of shit broke. I slid to a stop, lying on my side, blood dripping from my slightly open mouth. The grenade launcher had slid to rest next to me. I tried to reach for it, but my arms wouldn't respond. I just blinked stupidly as the Justicar walked towards me, biotic aura fading and a look of grim determination on her face.

"Human!"

The voice boomed through the Docking Bay, and I twitched as another bubble of blood dripped onto the metal floor. Samara was looking at the cockpit window of the ship, something that I couldn't see, as I was right next to the ship, out of line of sight. But she could see it from where she stood, and what she saw was obvious causing her great distress. "I couldn't find a gun I knew how to use…."

Missile pods and guns suddenly detached themselves from the ship and rotated to lock onto the Justicar and the hatchway far above. Face's voice through the ships speaker had an unmistakable hint of vindictive menace in its tone. "But I know how to use these."

Then he fired, and the world turned a shade of bright pain.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Waking up after being knocked out is a lot like waking up to an alarm clock. Your dizzy, unfocused. It's easy to forget what happened before you got the KO, and even easier to ask stupid questions when you don't mean to. The first thing that I asked when I woke up was, "Why is my bed so lumpy?"

And I asked it out loud. And then I felt immediately idiotic. I hated it when people spoke their thoughts out loud. It meant that they were too stupid to think it internally without getting muddled up, or they were nuts. Either way, it irked me. I rolled off the bed, or should I say cot, and took a knee. The room was filled with closely packed bunk-beds, all metal frames and uniformly grey sheets. I could hear the hum of the ship engines past the ringing in my ears, a phantom pain that would probably be there long after the incident itself. Fass must have dragged my ass out of there, after blowing the shit out of the Justicar.

That was some mind-numbing shit. If someone had told me what was going to happen beforehand, I would have immediately assumed that I'd be the one to oust Samara. But Fass? Christ, the world was getting all muddled.

I looked down at my clothes. Sometime while I was knocked out, someone had removed my shirt and left me in my cargo pants and boots. My skin was clear of bruises, but there was still an unpleasant twinge every now and again form the places where I was sure I'd broken bones. Now, It only felt like I'd bruised them. "Face?"

My voice was horse, and I felt the back of my throat sting for want of water. "Face?"

I tried again, but louder this time. No answer. Getting up into a standing position was a chore, but I managed it with some assistance from the bedframe. Unhurriedly, I made for the door to find my gangly pilot. It was relatively easy. I wandered past the armory, and using that as a reference point, went right. At least I remembered that about the ship. From the decontamination chamber, the cockpit was in the same direction as the armory. I got to a metal door that retracted automatically as I approached it. Inside was a relatively large room, with interlocking control panels underneath a huge window that showed me the blueness of what I remembered to be faster-than-light travel. And there he was, fingers scurrying over the controls like my grandfather over the drinks cabinet. "Hey Face."

His head spun around as I slumped into a chair, bolted to the floors surface. I snaffled a bottle of liquid from the floor, and drank deeply. Thankfully it was water, and not something else. But it could have been motor oil for I cared. If it soothed my throat, at this point, I'd drink it. "Human? You shouldn't be up. I have enough knowledge about your species physiology to know being knocked out can have severe repercussions."

"I'll deal Face, what did I say about babying me?"

The helmet stared at me in mute irritation. Then he just looked away. "I got us away from Thessia. They won't find us, even if they send out a full complement of search vessels."

So, making conversation, I thought as I put down the now empty bottle. I felt up to that. "What happened after I got floored?"

"A commando unit stormed the Hanger and tried to get to us, but I blew the charges you set. Took out the entire catwalk leading up to our ship. They couldn't reach us."

"And the hanger doors?"

Fass coughed something, and I frowned. It couldn't possibly be what I thought I'd heard. "You did what?"

"I blew the hanger doors off with the ships main gun."

I blinked, and smiled widely. "That works."

Face shared in a chuckle, "Yeah, it did."

There was an awkward silence. "Look man, you did me a solid back there," I began, clearing my throat in embarrassment. It wasn't often I had to thank a stranger for saving my ass.

"A solid what?"

"Huh?"

Face was looking at me again, in a way that suggested honest incomprehension. "A solid favor man. You saved my ass, and I just want to thank you."

Face nodded, and cleared his throat as well. Some things were universal. Like men having trouble voicing emotions. "Don't mention it. I just wish we didn't have to kill so many people doing it."

I chuckled, "Gotta admit, you did a good job taking out that Justicar. Didn't think about using the ships guns."

"Is that really something to be proud of?"

"Say what?"

Face tapped a few buttons and then, satisfied that the ship wasn't about to spiral off course, turned to regard me. "We killed a lot of people, for questionable reasons. Isn't that something to be ashamed of?"

"Questionable reasons?"

I slid forwards in my chair and looked the Quarian straight in the faceplate. "My friend's life is not a questionable reason Face. Do not fucking say shit like that."

I leant back again, "And the shitheads we killed? Fuck it man, there might be reason for me to be sorry for it. I didn't have any beef with them. But you had a serious score to settle, and you settled it. Now in my book, when you settle a score that's a good thing. Means you're a man of principle. Means you have rules that they tried to encroach and you taught them a lesson. Doesn't that make you feel good about yourself? That someone tried to take you for a chump, and you stood up and showed them that they couldn't."

Face thought about it for a moment. Finally he looked back and answered, "Yeah, it does."

He spoke in a quiet voice, like a kid being told off by his parents. He was struggling with the concept of revenge as a positive motivation. Something that, admittedly, I'd never had. I always liked that concept, even as far back as when I was a kid. "Right. An eye for an eye. That's how we do shit, and don't worry about what Gandhi said. Not everyone follows our philosophy. That gives us an edge."

"Gandhi?"

"Indian guy, liked togas."

I could tell that my explanation didn't really enlighten Face all that much, it only confused him. I didn't feel like explaining anything to him though. "So how do you, you know, plot a course on this thing?"

Face blinked, two pinpricks of light vanishing and reappearing for a second. Then an 'Ohh' sound suddenly came from his helmet, and he turned back to the controls. "That's right. You have that friend to save. Where is he, do you know?"

"Ohh I know bro, you ain't gonna like it though."

"Why?"

"He's on Torfan. You know where that is?"

Face sat stock still for the longest moment, and then, "Ohh."

It was a flat sound, like he'd just been trodden on.

"That's why he's in trouble I take it?"

"Yeah. Captured by the Batarians. I'm gonna bust him out."

Another silence.

"How are you going to rescue your friend from something like that? Getting off that planet was hard enough, and you're in no condition to fight now."

I lifted my previously broken arm and wiggled my fingers. "My arm seems to be good. Better than I was expecting actually, considering."

"Yeah, I injected some liquid medi-gel. Your arm should be fully healed in a week or so."

Face waved his hand in front of my face as I admired what I considered to be a fully healed arm. "But it's fragile. It takes much less to break it again unless you allow the bone time to regain its integrity. You can't just go wandering into a warzone and expect to live through it."

I considered this for all of two seconds. "My surviving the warzone is optional. Me saving my friends life, that ain't optional."

"How can you say that? Do you have no sense of self-preservation whatsoever?"

I chuckled, "Hey, I got limited resources at the moment Face. I gotta prioritize."

"And your own life comes second to your friend's!?"

I looked away from my chest, which I was poking to check my ribs. They felt good too. "Every damn day."

Face sat silently once again, as he watched me checking myself over. "That's…kind of like Quarians…"

"Its people man. If someone ain't willing to stand up for their people, they ain't people. Their animals."

I said that with a kind of concrete certainty that frightened even myself. Maybe I was being bit too zealous, but I believed what I said. Face nodded slowly, "I guess."

"I ain't gonna ask you to do this with me Face. When we get to the planet, we land, you drop me off, and you can go your own way. I'll hijack another ship if I gotta."

"So you think you can steal a ship as well as extricate one man from the Batarian Hegemony? No, you need me."

"So you're in?"

Face nodded, "If we don't help our people, we are not people."

"That's fucking right," I said, admittedly pleased that he had quoted me to make his point.

I watched as he turned and input the coordinate's into the computer, and set our course. "Just one thing though?"

"Yeah?"

"You know my name, even if you insist on not using it. But I don't know yours…"

I laughed. "That's funny that…ever since I got here, I ain't told anyone my real name. Been going by Prince this whole time."

Face nodded, "You don't have to tell me then. I can just call you Prince."

"No man," I said slowly, "You saved my life. That makes you as much a friend as the guy were going to save. You deserve my name, the real one."

I took a moment to settle myself into my seat, then I nodded a few times to reinforce my words. Face waited patiently.

"It's Stark…Andre Stark."

Face absorbed the words, rolling them over in his head. Then he stuck out a three fingered hand, and proffered it to me. "I think this is how you humans do this. I'm not sure."

"Yeah, that's how we do it."

I shoke his hand firmly, black skin against envirosuited green, "It's gonna be an honor fighting with you Face."

Face nodded in recognition, "Likewise, Prince."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

**Part 1**

Torfan from orbit looked a bit like the desert around Baghdad from up in a helicopter. All sandy colored and fucking depressing. And the smoke clouds. They covered huge patches of the surface, blocking out the sun so no-one on the ground could see it. Not that this was a bad thing. I flipped through a brief readout of the planets…or the moons, climate and terrain. Real hot, real dry, and a few percentages of a percentage point less oxygen than Earth. It read like a readout of the world's most depressing holiday locations.

Or high up on the list of most shitty places to have to fight a war. I checked my gear for the seventh time, running through a mental checklist. Weapons: One M-76 Revenant, two M-12 Locusts, one pistol that Face referred to as a Kessler. I'd never heard of any of them. Not from the internet, not from anywhere. But I knew that the Revenant was worth its weight in gold when it came to suppressive fire, and that the Locusts could put out a hell of a lot of bullets in a short time. Perfect for me. And the grenade launcher of course. I had to remedy the fact that I never got to use it on Thessia.

Then the armor. A little dented after my tango with the Justicar, God rest her sweet blue behind. Certainly uncomfortable in and around the shoulder area where Face had reset the warped hard suit. But functional. It was painted black though. Something I knew I wasn't going to enjoy when my boots hit the ground. I tried wearing a black T-Shit once on a desert operation. No-one could bear sharing the Humvee with me I was sweating so much. I made a silent vow, that if I had to wear this armor again I was cutting away some of it, or at least repainting so my skin could breathe a bit. I wasn't about to kill every motherfucker out there so I could keel over thanks to dehydration.

And finally, extra's. A few different slides of heavy ammo for the Grenade launcher. Smokes mostly, with a few incendiary grenades for good measure. Flares that I had with me when this, so far, short shitstorm began. An extra ammo block for the Revenant. A few high performance optics for all my weapons. Always paid to adjust your optic for different situations. Also a basic survival kit. Canned food, some matches, and an extremely small potable cooker.

Face blinked as I closed my bag once again and started tapping on the side of my weapon. "Is that what you do to cope with stress?"

My gaze fixed itself upon him with a kind of incredulous frown that he seemed particularly adept at provoking from me. "What the fuck kind of question is that?"

Face blinked, and turned back to the controls as we made our slow decent into the orbit. We were doing it with our engines off, to minimize our footprint. A slow entry to the planet's atmosphere Face said, wouldn't trip any of the scanners that the Alliance or the Batarians might have in orbit. Simple and slow, but effective. "It was just a question," he said.

"You don't talk about stress in the army Face, you just fucking deal with it. Who the fuck talks about that shit?"

I mumbled a few more choice curses, then lapsed back into silence. Truth was, I was scared shitless. But no way in hell was I going to let Face know that. So I kept quiet, and waited for the ride to get bumpy as we glided downwards.

And the silence is probably why I heard it. It was faint, but it was there. Neither Face nor myself would have heard it if we'd been talking. Something that I would no doubt have nightmares about for years to come. What if I hadn't? And we'd all charged in halfcocked and gotten iced?

But I did hear it. The faint sound of voices, raised high in song, drifting to us through the long range transmitter.

"Toast of the Army,  
Favorite Son! Hail to the brave Big Red One!  
Always the first to thirst for a fight.  
No foe shall challenge our right to victory.  
We take the field, a grand sight to see.  
Pride of the Infantry.  
Men of a great division,  
Courage is our tradition,  
Forward the Big Red One!"

_(Scene Transition: Source of the transmission)_

Former Private First Class Juan Barrera sat upon a rock on the sun drenched rock that was Torfan, and breathed deeply. The pilot had said that the lack of plant life on the planet made oxygen scarce, and that most carried around small canisters of excess air in case they got out of breath. But he found that it was tolerable. Maybe his military training gave him a better lung capacity than all these freakish aliens. Something to think about. Always paid to have one up on the bad guys.

"How long are we staying human? If the Alliance find us they will take my guts and lay them out on a platter!"

The voice of the Batarian pilot they had chartered. He was less than hospitable with they're requests. But then again, with Terri pacing around fingering a wicked looking knife, he wasn't about to outright refuse them. At this point however, Juan was sure Terri was on the very verge of killing the stupid alien cabrón just to shut him up.

"Hate to agree with four eyes Juan, but we don't even know that he's here."

"Disagreeing with me chica? Sí, I never saw this coming."

"You call me chica one more time fuckhead, I'll gut you and find Dom my fucking self."

Juan fingered the M-9 Tempest clipped to his belt, and then the Raptor assault rifle on his lap. He was seriously considering killing the Batarian himself, in place of shooting Terri in the leg. He'd never kill her, but a shot in the leg was moving up on his list of possible actions. But the pilot was still needed. They needed one to fly them off esta Roca once they found Dom.

"This beacon is giving away our position you ignorant monkeys! Let me turn it off!"

Terri raised an eyebrow at Juan, who held out a hand as if to say, "stop". But he did it in a lazy fashion, as if he knew what she was going to do, and was resigned to the fact that he wouldn't be able to stop her. She turned, and smiled at the Batarian. "What did you call me, you shitfaced, four eyed freakshow?"

"Mujer fatal, perra loca," Juan mumbled to himself, as he turned his gaze away. Two shots rang out, and he heard a body slump.

"Bueno, no más piloto," he said with a sigh.

"He was a pain, you wanted to ice him as well."

"Sí, y ahora no tenemos ningún piloto! Cómo era tan bueno?"

"How many times Juan? I do not speak fucking Spanish you psycho!"

Juan rubbed his forehead, breathing heavily. He was struggling to keep his cool. Teri always had this effect on him. She was just so…volatile. "We are here, Sí? And Dom is here too? Well then, isn't it possible that el príncipe is here also?"

"We don't know shit Juan," Terri reposted bluntly, "and as much as I'd like Andre to be here, we're wasting time that Dom might not have. If you didn't have your dick up your ass, you might see that."

"I know el Príncipe is here. Whoever, whatever brought us here, it would make any sense to take us and Dom and not Andre."

"You pulling that out of your ass Juan, and you know it."

Juan nodded to himself, and then met her gaze. "I'm willing to bet two hundred chica, that he's here, and he'll show up in time to help us save Dom. Beano?"

Terri frowned, then smirked. "I'll take your money. Make it a thousand."

Both of them slapped their hands together, sealing the deal. And at that very moment, a ship dropped out of the sky and filled the ear with the roar of its engines. Terri was the first to react, being almost as twitchy as an enraged lioness at all times. She pushed Juan backwards behind the rock he was sitting on, and dived to the side to get behind their ship. No gunfire followed her, but she wasn't about to take that as a good sign just yet.

"What's it doing Barrera?"

"Landing chica! Flank left. Use the sand dune as defilade!"

She was painfully aware of the fact that the hardsuit that Juan had found for her back on that planet, Illium, was far from armoured. It was more like an accessory. But she still unhooked one of the two rifles from her back and let it expand in her hands. M-97 Viper the shopkeeper had dubbed it, before she had shiv'd him in the throat. Time to see if the freakish alien had been telling the truth about its combat effectiveness.

Meanwhile, Juan was lying sideways on the ground, propped up on his elbow with his legs at odd angles to provide him a stable firing position. His entire body save for his head and arms were in cover. It was as close to a perfect location as he could hope for. One of the reasons why he had sat down on that particular rock in the first place.

He watched as the ship landed smoothly in front of their own, throwing up sand and grit as the air being displaced by the engines kicked up a miniature sandstorm. It soon covered the entire ship, obscuring it from view. "Espero que os guste balas bastardo."

Then the sound of the ships engines abruptly wound down. The sand started settling, but slowly. Soon, it was silent save for their laboured breathing. "Where are you motherfucker, just show your fucking face," Terri muttered from the lip of the sand dune. Her scope was trained firmly upon the ships side door.

Then it shuddered, and her finger slipped its way into the trigger guard, to gently caress the trigger itself. The door shuddered again, then slide to the side to reveal….

"I don't fucking believe it," Terri whispered.

Prince stood in the doorway, helmet tucked under his arm, and a big goddamn gun in his fist. He swept his eyes over the landscape, searching. Then his eyes settled on Juan as the Latin American immediately jumped to his feet. "Lo sabía! Sabía que vendrías!"

Barrera, looking comically short compared to the huge African American, nevertheless almost knocked Prince clean off his feet as he rushed into an embrace. His rifle lay forgotten on the ground between the rock and the ship. Terri used her rifle to pull herself onto a knee. "Fuck you Starks, but you just cost me a thousand bucks!"

All she got back was the sound of joyful laughter. It proved to be infectious. She finally let a smile creep over her face.

_(Scene Transition: Later)_

The sun was going down in the distance, and the three soldiers sat on the sand dune overlooking the huge expanse of desert around them. They were sharing a moment. A rare moment of shared emotion that had rendered them unable to speak. Finally, Prince broke the silence. "We're on a different planet, in a video game, surrounded by hostile aliens….and it looks exactly the fucking same. That's fucked up."

Juan and Teri nodded. The remains of blown out ground vehicles, and crashed ships, Alliance and Batarian alike littered the sand for miles around. Bodies half submerged in the wreckage, burned black from the fires that sent black smoke far up into the air. "Sí, if we hadn't flown in on a spaceship, I'd think we were back in Iraq."

They fell silent again, but not for very long. "So we all came here for the same reason right? How do we play this?"

"No fucking idea amigo. We know that the aliens have a base out there, en algún lugar. We just don't know where."

"In other words, exactly like Iraq," Terri spat on her knife, a crude shiv she had been in possession of when she first arrived in this world, and buffed it with a rag. Juan hadn't bothered asking why she'd been carrying an improvised weapon on her. It would be like asking a surfer why we was carrying a surfboard, or a haircutter why they had a pair of scissors. Psychopaths carried knives like sane people carried car keys.

"Looks like it," Andre said. "Who knows where we can find it?"

Juan shrugged, "Alliance maybe. El Piloto might have known, but the chica over there wasted him."

Prince turned his gaze on 2K, who shrugged. "Wasn't worth keeping him around. He was a whinny bitch, just like Zorro over there."

Juan ignored the jibe, and focused his attention on Prince. "So who's la cabeza del casco? You didn't explain why he was here."

Prince raised an eyebrow, and Juan nodded down the slope towards the silhouette watching them from the bottom of the dune. "Face? It's a bit complicated, and a long story."

Prince took a sip of water from his canteen, as he mulled over the details in his head. "Short version: He saved my ass. He's a good guy. We can trust him."

They nodded, satisfied with the answer. "Then get the scrawny little fucker up here. We got shit to plan," Terri said firmly.

"Hey, Face!" Prince called down the slope, "Get up here bro, we need to talk."

They waited in patient silence as the Quarian climbed the sandy dune, taking occasional sips from the canteen that Prince passed around. Finally, Face ground to a halt behind them. "Take a seat Casco."

He joined them as they sat staring out into the waning sunlight, fidgeting nervously. "You remember what I said Face? About you being free to go any time you wanted?"

The Quarian nodded, "I remember."

Prince nodded, an almost solemn look on his features. "Well now is your last chance. We got two ships now. You can take one and go if you want."

Face blinked, and looked at the people assembled around him. The one he assumed was Juan had an odd chain off beads out and was muttering under his breath. The female was staring at him, a knife twirling around in her grasp. Despite that, her gaze wasn't unkind, more thoughtful. And then Prince, looking at him in a way that said quite clearly, 'I won't think any less of you if you do.'

"No," The Quarian replied firmly. "I said I'd do this. And I will."

Juan lifted his gaze and gifted him with a brief look of respect. Terri looked satisfied with his answer. "Well then," Prince said, "Now would be a good time for ideas Face, if you got any."

"Well, we can't attack head on," Face offered, "That would be suicide."

"We can't attack at all shithead," Teri piped up from the back, still twirling her knife, "We don't know where the fucking bad guys are."

Face smirk under his helmet, "Yes actually, we do."

Juan looked up from his beads, Prince raised an eyebrow, and Terri frowned. They all focused they're undivided attention upon him. "Well," he amended, "we don't know per say, but the mercenaries who owned the ship did."

Prince cut in, "Those fuckers the Justicar flattened back on Thessia?"

"The same," Face replied, "All the mercenaries, pirates and criminals in the galaxy have passed through Torfan at one point or another. It's the Batarian Hegemonies' highway into Citadel space. The slave trade, the drug rings. They all run through here, then to Illium and Omega, then to the rest of the galaxy."

All three humans waited patiently for the alien to continue. "And I've been their pilot for almost five months now. I know that station like my own ship back on the Migrant Fleet."

"So you know what we're up against?" Terri asked.

"Yeah, and short of a miracle, I don't think we can make it in."

"How bad are we talking here Face?" Prince followed up with his own question.

"Well, it's an underground complex, with almost five hundred personnel manning it at all times. There is a network of tunnels underneath the main bunker that stretch for miles around. They're more like a maze than anything else. Full of dead ends, false starts and the like. Enough to keep anyone without a map wandering around for days. And the other ways in are almost as bad. A concealed, reinforced metal door flanked by two large pillboxes and Keelah knows how many armoured vehicles. Then there is a retractable hanger door half way up a mountain that opens to allow ships in and out of the docking bay. Which is also concealed and covered by anti-air defences."

They stared at him in utter silence. Juan had the canteen halfway to his mouth, and seemed to have forgotten the fact that it even existed. Terri looked obstinate, and Prince….well Prince just looked amused. Something that didn't really sit well with Fass.

"I'm not joking Prince. It's suicide to go in there."

"Don't doubt that Face. Just strikes me that, minus the hangers and the spaceships….this continues to be Iraq all over again."

Terri and Juan smirked.

"Iraq?" Face asked.

"Not important, but it still means that we have the experience in situations like these. So…what would we have done back in Iraq if we were asked to do something like this?"

"Go AWOL," Juan offered acidly.

"GBU the fuck outta that bitch," Terri murmured, a dreamy smile plastered on her face.

"Well it's not like we can walk away from this one Juan. And I didn't come all the way from one shitty rock of a planet, to this shitty rock of a planet, just to blow Dom to kingdom fucking come with a GBU. And that is if we had one, which we don't."

"What is a GBU?"

"A bunker buster Face. A big fucking bomb we used to use to crack open underground command centres."

Face blinked, "How much yield did it have?"

Prince drew in a breath and appeared to think very carefully on this. He shrugged, "No idea. Heard one of the pilots say that they had about 600 pounds of plastic explosive in them though. That help?"

"600 pounds?" Face quickly did the math in his head, and nodded. "Around the power that the round from a corvettes main gun would have."

"Hey," Terri interrupted, "Some of us don't understand your fucking technobabble ass-hats. All I know is that GBU's look nice blowing up Iraqi bunkers."

Juan mumbled something in Spanish, and Terri immediately snapped her gaze towards him. "The fuck did you say Juan?"

"Pendejo, Usted sabría si no hubiera pasado todo su tiempo follando chicos en las duchas!"

She might not have known what the rest of it meant, but Terri had listened to Juan enough to know that "Pendejo" didn't mean anything nice. "The fuck…!"

Prince let the two argue, and turned back to Face. "Isn't the ship we have a corvette?"

Face nodded, "Yes. Aren't you going to stop them?"

Prince looked back at the arguing pair of soldiers. "Hey, guys!"

They took absolutely no notice. "Hey, guys!"

Still nothing. Prince turned back to him and shrugged, "I never could tell them to do anything. We're equals, and I'm no leader. If our main gun has enough yield to bust open a bunker, why don't we use that in place of a GBU?"

Face blanched, "No! What kind of a suggestion is that?! That's…"

"What?"

"You can't fire a mass accelerated weapon on the surface of a planet! That's outlawed in every civilization in the known galaxy. In Citadel space is punishable by death!"

"You fired it on Thessia didn't you?" Prince asked, remembering the Justicar Samara for the umpteenth time.

"No! I fired every gun except that. Firing a weapon like that would have wreaked the entire hanger, and the shockwave would have killed every living thing outside of the ship's hull. Including you!"

"Sounds like the kind of firepower we need," Terri said approvingly. They had stopped arguing in order to listen to Face's wild diatribe. Juan nodded in agreement.

"But it still doesn't solve the problem. All we're left with is a lot of rubble with Dom buried underneath."

"And that sort of yield wouldn't bust the Torfan base anyway," Face rapidly put in, trying to dissuade them of the idea. "It would just make a mess."

Prince rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "How much of a mess?"

"What?" Face asked, "I don't know. It might put a dent in the concealed door, but it wouldn't be worth it just for that. Our best chance is the tunnels. And even then they will have guards patrolling down there. We'll be swamped in minutes."

Prince glanced at Juan and Terri, and could tell by their expressions that they were thinking the exact same as him. "Ohh the corvettes gun is worth it all right. As a distraction."

Juan nodded. "Fire that sucker at the door, maybe take out those pillboxes. Beano. They all run from the tunnels to see what's going on. Then we drop into the tunnels and attack from the rear. In and out with Dom before they realise what the fuck has happened."

Terri smiled, "I'm liking this plan guys. It has explosions and shit."

Face however, was decidedly less pleased. "That's your plan?! Save your friend from certain death only to be hunted down by the Citadel council later? Not to mention the Batarians. They will come after us with everything they have if they find out!"

The three humans nodded, not bothered in the slightest. "Fuck yeah buckethead," Terri supplied, "Just means more targets for me and my baby here." She picked up her rifle and nodded to the rest of them, "I'm gonna hit that sack. We move out at Ohh-Eight hundred?"

Prince confirmed this with a nod, and she slid down the sand dune towards the ship. Face watched her go with an almost terrified expression. "She's not serious, is she?"

Prince got up and put a hand on Face's shoulder, "It just the way things are Face. I did say I was willing to do anything to save Dom, didn't I? I wasn't shitting with you, you know."

"But…"

"No buts Face. Live fast, die young. It was always going to end bloody."

He turned away and tapped Juan on the shoulder, "You coming Juan? I got plenty of cots on my ship if you need one."

Barrera sucked on his bottom lip, and shook his head. His eyes were sort of dead inside. Like he was seeing his own ghost. "Gracias…"

Juan looked up at Prince and held up his rosary beads. "I think I'll stay here, Sí? Do enough praying for all of us this time. We'll need it."

Andre nodded in understanding, "You're a saint Juan, you know that right?"

He left, Face following him after a moment's hesitation. Juan sat there in the half darkness, pondering Andre's words. He shuffled his beads and brought the words of the Hail Mary to mind. But before he started praying, he looked over his shoulder and smiled faintly at his friends retreating back. "El Santo…me gusta."

He smiled, and hunched over. And so the galaxy waited with baited breath. Tomorrow, three soldiers far removed from their home would fight for the life of one of their own, on a moon called Torfan in a universe they thought was myth. And they would win. Because, in all fairness, who ever heard of the four valiant heroes being slaughtered by the five hundred? That just wouldn't be a very good story.


	11. Chapter 10 part 2

**Chapter 10**

**Part 2**

We trudged through the sand, the sun beating down from on high with the strength and ferocity of a rabid bull. Juan had point, his weapon being the fastest to bring to bear in the event of an ambush. I was in the middle, ready to provide covering fire with the Revenant, and 2K brought up the rear with her rifle. It was good to be surrounded by capable soldiers again. By people who knew their strengths, and knew their role. But while we had some of the most important parts of a full squad: A designated marksman, an automatic rifleman, and an assistant automatic rifleman, we still lacked some of the other pieces. And when pieces are missing from the puzzle, it will never function properly.

We needed more men. Plain and simple. To provide extra volumes of fire, but also to enable us to perform more complex manoeuvres. As it was, leaving myself and 2K to provide covering fire and overwatch while Juan played hunter-killer with his assault rifle was the limit of our capabilities. Yes…Juan. The only problem with having strong soldiers at your back, particularly the ones who are your friends, is that the constant questioning your plans. What's more, in this case Juan actually had some valid points.

I'd always been extremely good at moral dilemmas. Most people would agonise over the difference between right and wrong for days on end, eventually choosing and then agonising over the result for far longer. Me? I just picked. I pointed a finger at what I wanted and then I fucking did it. And for years I had no comprehension of why people couldn't just do what I did. Why did they have to screw around?

Then, soon after the first time I met Dom, I realised the answer. The people who have an easy time making the decisions are the people who have nothing worth making a decision about. They're the people who haven't lived long enough to have anything of consequence. It's always hard making a decision regarding something you care about. On the other hand…making decisions about something you don't care about? That gets a lot easier.

"We can't just leave them, amigo. They are soldados, just like us!"

"They aren't like us Juan. We're American First Infantry, they're fucking space marines."

"Gotta go with Prince on this one Juan," 2K commented, casually inspecting her rifle as we walked. She didn't bother elaborating as to why. She knew we understood her point of view. It was the one she always put forward. 'Why the hell should we?'

In all honesty, it was pretty much my opinion too. "I'm not talking to you Puta," Juan shoot back, clearly frustrated with our lack of co-operation. "If we leave those men in that pozo, they will die."

"Sucks for them," 2K snorted. This time Juan just ignored her. "What would Dom do? Would he leave them there? No, he would do something amigo, he would get them out!"

"We save them or we save Dom, Juan. There is no middle ground."

"There is," Juan clamped a hand on my shoulder and spun me around. "We call this Alliance, Sí? And we tell them to assault el Fortaleza. They save they're soldados, we save Dom. Everyone lives."

I considered it for a moment. I had to admit, it did have a good chance of working. But then Miss Buzzkill stepped up to the plate, and voiced her issues with the plan. "And what makes you think they'll believe us? I wouldn't. And even if they do, what kind of a fucking clusterfuck would that be?"

Terri held up three fingers and shook them emphatically at us, "We'll be caught in a fucking three-way firefight with no-one being able to tell who is who! Bullets flying everywhere, explosives…a fight like this is going to be fucking chaos as it is. What do you think it will be like with three sides fighting over the same bunker?"

I shrugged and looked at Juan, "She's got a point Juan."

He grimaced, but tightened his grip on my shoulder. "Por favour? Please?"

I sighed. When one of your friends decided that something is important enough to say please for, you know that's when shit is serious. "Okay, I'll try and get Face to patch me through to the Alliance. Now get fucking walking. We're running behind schedule."

Juan nodded, managing to convey all his gratitude through one simple bob of the head. I knew things like this weighed on his conscience. He wasn't a bad person, despite what he did. He was always ready to put himself on the line for what he believed in. In a way, I suppose I envied him. In another way, I thought it was fucking stupid and enormously annoying.

I brought up my Omni-Tool screen and cycled through the "apps" displayed on the screen. Bringing up the communications tab, I activated my radio and slipped on my helmet. It was stifling hot inside, but the radio only worked if I spoke into the receiver. Which was inside the helmet. "Face, you listening, over?"

"Uhh…yeah….over."

I scowled. And here was the weak link in the operation. The only member of our ragtag group who might fuck-up under pressure. I wasn't so desperately short on manpower, I wouldn't have allowed him to participate. Just to stand by until we needed extraction. But…he was all we had. "Face, I need you to patch me through to any alliance forces you can find. I need to get a message to one of their higher ups, over."

There was silence for a second or two. "Are you sure? If I patch you through they will be able to triangulate our positions. Both the ship and you."

I listened for a second, waiting. Then, "….Over."

"I know that Face. But Juan is having a crisis of conscience and won't stop fucking annoying me until I have someone standing by to extract the Alliance POW's. So can you do it or not, over?"

"I can do it, stand by."

I waited, following Juan's grey armoured back, breathing in stale, stifling air. I felt angry, irritated and all round ill-tempered. Too many variables, so few resources to devote to them.

_(Scene Transition: Commander Jane Shepard)_

Jane Shepard was a committed soldier. No-one doubted her professionalism, and it was hard to question her integrity. What people could very easily question were her methods. There wasn't much Shepard would not do in pursuit of her duty. And her duty at this moment was to secure Torfan against the Batarian Hegemony. Not only to cut off their trade, but also to cut off the only beachhead they had to mount an assault into Alliance space.

Attacking across the theatre of war that was interplanetary travel, the Batarians had to have a number of things. The ships, which they had. The manpower, which they also had. A supply route, and a beachhead….which they had, in the form of Torfan. If any one of them was taken away, the war between the humans and the Batarians would be over before it began. And Shepard knew that the cost of lives it would take to secure this god-awful speck of a planet, would be nothing compared to the loss of life if they failed. An all-out, long term war with the Hegemony was the consequence of failure. Something that she could not in good conscience allow to happen.

But it hurt her inside, to know that so many people under her and Major Kyle's command might die from obtaining that goal. A pain that she would have to endure, she decided. The alternative would be far more severe. "Commander Ma'am, I have a mercenary on the line who wants to speak with you."

She glanced up from the holographic map of the region, peering at the communications officer around the curtain of short black hair that framed her face. "Refer it to Second Lieutenant Mitchell, Sergeant. He's been put in charge of relations with non-Alliance personnel."

"I've tried Ma'am. He's requesting a high ranking Officer. He says it's urgent."

Jane scowled and placed a hand on her Omni-Tool, "Transfer the call then, I'll deal with him."

The techie tapped a few buttons on his Omni-Tool and nodded before leaving. "This is Commander Shepard, who am I speaking to?"

"This is Face….Fass'Nigh nar Qwib-Qwib. I'm going to transfer you to our leader."

Shepard frowned, and opened her mouth to ask what the hell was going on, when a deep human voice issued from the comm. "This is Prince, who am I speaking with?"

"This is Commander Jane Shepard of the Alliance navy. Why the hell are you mercs calling us in the middle of a war?"

She heard nothing but silence for a moment or two. Then, "Commander Shepard? Alliance N7?"

Her frown deepened. "Yes. How do you know that?"

A muffled curse, then his voice came back again over the connection. "Never mind Commander, that's not relevant at this juncture. What is relevant is the Alliance POW's that the Batarians captured and are hold inside their base."

Shepard was now giving the caller her undivided attention. "I'm listening."

"Well Commander, a lesser known fact is that one of our men was captured as well, and is being held with the rest of them. I've a small strike force assembled and ready to extract him, at any cost and by all means necessary."

Shepard interjected then, cutting him off. "You have a way to infiltrate the base?"

"Face, our pilot used to work with a mercenary group that used this planet as a refuelling point. As such he has provided us with in-depth knowledge of a tunnel system that runs underground and joins with the base. What I'm offering is detailed information on their bunker, the destruction of several key defensive emplacements, and your captured personnel."

Shepard mulled it over, and quickly decided that there must be a catch. No deal was ever this good. "What do you want in return? Money?"

"Just your help extracting our man Commander. And our safe passage off this shithole. Do we have a deal?"

"How do I know you're not working with the Batarians? How do I know I won't be sending my men into a trap?" Shepard questioned.

"Well, we're doing this with or without your support Commander. And our plan relies on those emplacements getting deep sixed. So you'll know we were telling the truth when half their fortifications go bye-bye. All you have to do is have your men ready to move. No risk in that."

She nodded, "Okay then. We have a deal. If I need to contact you again I'll do it via your pilot. Your designation will be Midnight. Mine will be Slingshot. Do you know radio etiquette?"

"Affirmative Commander. My team and I are all ex-military."

"Good…and if I find out you were lying to me in any way Prince, I'll give you fair warning. There is no-where in the galaxy you will be able to hide from me."

A dry chuckle from the other end of the line. "I wouldn't dare to doubt you of all people for a second Slingshot. Call Face and he'll forward you the details on the base. Midnight out."

Shepard minimised the screen on her Omni-Tool, and considered it for a moment or two. Then she looked up and shouted, "Lieutenant! Get a company of men mounted up on the double. We have a base to assault!"

_(Scene Transition: Prince)_

"Okay then. That sucked balls," I exclaimed as soon as I had the helmet off, and had breathed a few deep breaths of cleaner air.

"¿Qué? ¿Por qué?"

"The officer I spoke to just happens to be the main fucking character of the game."

"Shepard?" 2K asked.

"Yeah, Shepard," I replied, "And that means trouble is on its way. We need to get this shit done now."

"Trouble?" Juan questioned.

"Where-ever Shepard goes in the game, trouble follows them. It gets pretty fucking repetitive after a while actually. But from the way they react, it seems to me like that had always been the case."

2K nodded knowingly as she knelt and swept some sand away from a metal hatchway, concealed by a rocky overhang. "Sounds a bit like us, right? You guys lift this monster up while I pie it out?"

Juan and I both nodded wordlessly, slipping on our helmets once again. Terri took a few steps back, readying her rifle as we grasped the locking mechanism and wrenched it to the right. It squealed at us like a wounded animal, but slowly gave as we put our strength to work. For a man of average height, Juan could lift like a champion. As it flipped open, we removed ourselves from 2K's line of sight and let her slowly pie out the entrance. She started at the left and moved right, clearing the entrance by sections. Finally, as we had just finished unclipping our weapons, she gave the thumbs up. All clear.

This time, I took point. My Revenant wasn't the most manoeuvrable, but in this confined space, it wouldn't matter. I just had to mow down anything that came into my line of sight. The rate of fire that the Revenant afforded me was perfect for that job. I dropped down, and looked left and right. Further up both end of the tunnel were clear. I heard two more thumps behind me, the others following me down.

"Face, this is Prince, over."

"Yeah, this is Face. Send you traffic….over."

"We are ready to start moving through the tunnels. Are you on station yet? Over."

"No, I'll be another two minutes. Over."

"Roger that, when you're ready to begin your run fire at your own discretion. We're going deeper into the tunnels now. We might lose radio contact, over."

"Understood Prince. Good luck, out."

I turned to the rest and flipped my radio to a new setting. Only Juan and Terri could hear me now. "I have point, Juan is on flank security, and 2K is bringing up the rear. Is everyone good to go?"

"Affirm."

We set out through the tunnels, slowly at first, then faster as we got used to the underground. Take the first right, cross the T-Intersection, and then take the third left. Onwards for two hundred feet, then left. I went over the directions in my head, not wanting to refer to them on my Omni-Tool for fear of the light alerting someone to our presence. All commands were hushed, despite the fact that our voices where sent over comms, and couldn't be heard outside of our helmets. Movements were deceptively smooth, given how hard our hearts were racing.

Then….the ground around us shook, and dust fell from the roof of the tunnel. The vibrations lasted a full ten seconds before they died away. Then emergency red lighting came on all the way down the tunnel. "That's the signal. Double time it!"

We increased our pace, pie-ing out connecting tunnels on the run while we practically raced down our intended path. We were travelling at such a pace, that when we ran head first into a Batarian guard, I didn't even bother to stop. I just crushed him roughly against the wall and swept on through. I heard a brief *shlick* as 2K's shiv silenced whatever he was about to shout. One more right turn, then there would be an elevator up ahead.

But when we turned the corner, there were three Batarians just standing there, as if they had been waiting for us. They stared at us, as if they weren't quite believing their own eyes. I couldn't back up, because I was already out in the open, with Juan and 2K coming up behind me fast. I called out a warning instead, then I threw myself flat to clear Juan and 2K's line of fire. They both opened up, Juan slightly before 2K as he had been closer behind me. I didn't even bother sighting down on them. They were all slumped on the floor in seconds. I got to my feet and hugged the wall. "Move up."

Juan and I both took a wall and advanced, using the angles we had to pie out the inside of the elevator room. "Going in, going left," I said.

"Going right," he replied.

We both entered at the same time as 2K covered the elevator doors. A brief staccato exchange of gunfire sounded, but it was Juan's gun that fired, so I didn't bother to look around. My side was devoid of anything except dirty tunnel wall. "Left clear."

"Right clear," came Juan's reply.

2K moved up and covered the direction we had come from as Juan hit the button to call the elevator down. I knelt and trained my Revenant on the doors. White metal, futuristic, and completely out of place down here in the dark and shitty tunnels. The elevator arrived, and I half expected it to go ping as the doors slid open. But it remained silent as the grave as they slid open and both Juan and I pied it out. Nothing.

"Everyone in," I ordered over the comm. 2K stood from her position and moved backwards into the elevator, her gun sight never straying from the tunnel. "Going up," I informed them. The doors closed, and suddenly we were standing in a small white box alone, our weapons once again aimed at the doors. It was quiet, almost peaceful. But the tension could be cut with a knife. "2K, check left. Juan has right. I have front."

Going well so far. We were maintaining momentum and speed of assault. The Batarians we had engaged so far wouldn't have had the time, nor the presence of mind to send a transmission to anyone else on the base. We were still running silent. Well….the ground team was undiscovered. Judging from the rapidly sounding alarms from up above, Shepard and Face had managed to complement each other's efforts quite nicely. Even now, I knew that the Alliance would be engaged in a firefight with the Batarians over the main entrance.

The elevator doors opened suddenly, and once again the lack of a ping surprised me. It looked like a commercial elevator after all. 2K and Juan leaned out, exposing the minimal amount of their bodies, while I just aimed straight ahead. The elevator opened out into a T-Intersection of sorts. Stairs leading up in my line of fire, straight ahead of the elevator doors. To the left and right, a long line of doors and adjoining corridors. All steel grey or white colour scheme, with distinguishing markings in red or black.

The corridors were clear to the most extent, but not entirely. A single Batarian, no doubt a slacker they didn't want on the front lines judging from his lack of protective headgear, was standing guard next to the elevator. He turned, no doubt expecting to see another guard like himself. His face didn't even have time to register surprise. Just pain as Juan roughly ceased him and pulled his unprotected head into the frame of the elevator door. Then again, then again, until the Batarian fell backwards with a crash. "Make sure he's not getting up," I ordered, bringing up my Omni-Tool. No dark tunnels here, might as well brush up on the directions just to be sure. The stairs up, turn right and down that hallway until we reached another stairwell, and then down as many levels as we could. That would take us to the slave containment area…where they would be keeping the POW's.

"Juan has point," I ordered, then reminded them of the route once again. 2K was giggling quietly into her mic, thoroughly enjoying herself despite the danger. I heard another *shlick* and knew that the Batarian was dealt with. Juan was just calm, and professional. His crucifix swung like a pendulum around his neck, glinting faintly in the red hazard lights as he moved past me. "2K, take rear."

"Wilco," she forced out, still in a fit of barely contained mirth.

Juan went up the stairs backwards, taking slow and methodical steps as he scanned left and right with his rifle. He reached the middle landing and knelt. "Clear, move up."

I went next, past Juan as he covered me. "Clear," I muttered as we exited the stairwell and quickly moved down the new corridor. "Forget clearing the rooms. Just move."

This was taking far too long I decided, far too long. "Weapons hot, if we run into contact just push through. I'll take point."

Juan and I switched places, my heavier armour being much more suited for a running engagement. We moved as fast as we could with weapons up, armoured boots thumping on the hard floor. A door opened in front of us. This time I guess it was an officer coordinating troop efforts from up here where he had access to surveillance. "What are you stupid idiots doing up here!"

Definitely an officer. A stupid one, who hadn't noticed past the armour that we weren't Batarians. He never got a chance to correct himself either. I jogged up to him and jammed my Revenants muzzle into his gut, then juiced the trigger. His lower half was shredded, and out from the small of his back a geyser of liquefied small intestine fountained a few feet down the hallway. I pushed past and regained momentum.

"Contact rear!"

The sound of 2K's rifle came from behind, and I could just see the stairwell up ahead. "2K, Juan, push forwards. I'll cover."

"Affirm."

I spun around as 2K and Juan went past, utilising a one cover, one move manoeuvre. Levelling my Revenant, I sprayed down the hallway at the two dozen Batarians that had come forth from the adjoining rooms. They slunk back into cover, shields overwhelmed by the volume of fire I was directing at them. "In cover Juan, you're free to move!"

2K's rifle joined mine, loud claps of sound against the raging buzz saw of the Revenant. Suddenly, my weapon ground to a halt and began beeping incessantly. "Fuck, I'm dry. Wait one."

Another few shoots from Terri, and now Juan was firing over her head. "Move back Prince!"

I tried, but as soon as I took a single step out into the open, enemy fire pinged off my shields. I flattened myself against the door I'd been using the doorframe of as cover. "I'm pinned! Pop smoke!"

Taking out one of my submachine guns, I blind fired around the corner. Juan clapped Terri on the back as a kind of signal, and also began firing short, controlled bursts to supplement mine. Then, like an angel coming to the rescue, Terri stepped out for a second and tossed a canister underhand past me down the hallway. In second, smoke was billowing around us.

Her voice called out through the miasma, "You're good Prince!"

I backpedalled, a few stray rounds impacting my shields. Then I was free of the fog, and following my team down the stairwell as quickly as I could manage. Gunfire echoed as Juan once again took point and sprayed down a small fire team of Batarians that were coming up the stairs in an attempt to cut us off. "Push, push, push," I screamed down the stairs, forgetting that we were rigged up through direct comms.

2K took the order to heart though, clipping her rifle to her back and un-holstering a large pistol. "Back away from the edge! Tossing a frag!"

Juan and 2K immediately flattened themselves against the wall as I unhooked two grenades and primed them with a few twists. Dropping them down onto the Batarians below, I hunched back and looked away. The explosion shook the stairs like a house of cards, and I dropped to one knee to keep myself steady. "Move, move, move!"

Juan and 2K continued down again, this time the contact was only sporadic. I covered the rear, gunning down a few of the original Batarians who had followed us down. "Pick up the pace!"

"Move back, we got you covered!"

I ran down the stairs at full tilt, only my forward momentum keeping me from toppling down the stairwell like a bowling ball. Four main landings later, and we finally reached the bottom. We were back to dingy tunnels. Only this one wasn't brown like the ones we had to navigate at the beginning. These were grey and black and smudged with dried red. Obviously the Batarians we had just slaughtered were the prison guards on duty, because there were no more in sight. Just cages….and people. Turian, Asari, Drell, Salarian, Human. And all were grimy and covered in foul smelling muck. They stared at the new additions to they're private hellhole and Juan and 2K flanked me on either side.

"Hey! You guys Alliance!? Get us out of here!"

The nearest and fullest cage had numerous human soldiers in it, dressing in tattered alliance BDU's. "Juan, 2K! Cover the stairs!"

They rushed to obey as I unclasped my helmet and marched forwards. We were here. All of us. Safe enough for now with a pretty defensible position. But more importantly, the huge black man who leaned up against the bars with an astounded expression on his brown face. Clean shaved head, with gang tats plastered all over it. His arms were like sledgehammers, his chest and back muscles like bags of melons. His chest so finely chiselled it looked like he spent his entire life perfecting his endurance and strength. Our leader and closest friend for longer than any of us cared to mention….the King. Dom King.

"Prince," he said, half disbelieving, half angry.

"One and only nigger. Back up, I'm blowing the door."

"What the fuck are you doing here Prince?! This place is a fucking death trap!"

"Exactly," I replied flippantly, "I couldn't leave you in a place like this, now could I?"

I strung a length of det-cord around the locking mechanism, and backed up a few steps. "Fire in the hole! Fire in the hole!"

The POW's scrambled into cover, and I touched off the cord. It flared, and with a fairly restrained bang for something so effective, it sheared off the entire lock. "Everyone out! If you know where the four eyes keep their guns and shit, get suited up! And someone free the rest of these fuckers!" I tossed a coil of det-cord to the same Alliance soldier who had first spoken, and turned to face Dom as he towered over me.

"No time for all this shit Dom. I know you're pissed, but we have extraction on the way and we gotta move fast."

Dom clenched his teeth, eyes flaming. He never liked us putting ourselves in harm's way on his account. He always used to say that he was the only one of us who would never need or want help, and we should concentrate on keeping each other safe. But I could also tell he was grateful. That was Dom for you. Almost a walking contradiction.

"Copy that," he rumbled. "I know where the guards keep a small arsenal in the back. I can suit up myself and the rest of the guys there."

"Rest of the guys?" I asked, a sudden wash of humour through my chest.

"Yeah, I made some friends in lockup. They'll be wanting to hitch a ride with us if they can. You got room for four more?"

I nodded slowly, a smile spreading across my face. "Yeah, we got room for around five more if needs be."

I swear, only Dom King could find a few bangers to help him out in an alien prison. Dom nodded, then turned away. He walked into the centre of the room, his mere presence drawing the attention of all around him. And when he spoke, it was like a god had just appeared to impart his judgement. "I want six of you to unpack the cache in the back and start handing out weapons and armour. Those four over there," he said, pointing to a group of rough looking humans who acknowledged his attention with nods and looks of fierce determination, "get first pick of whatever's there! And someone better get me a fucking shotgun!"

His voice was like a flash of lighting with accompanying thunder. People moved to obey him, because when Sergeant Dominique King of the 1st Infantry Division tells you to do something, you do it. It was a rule of nature, one that no-one broke without severe fucking consequences. It appeared that during his time in here, the rest of the prisoners and slaves had learnt that lesson, just like everyone else Dom had met over the years. Dom turned back to me as gunfire echoed around us. Juan and 2K were joined now by the four humans Dom had singled out, who fell into almost perfect formation with them.

"Military?" I asked him, nodding at them.

"Mercenary. The four-eyed aliens locked them up because they were human. As you can guess, they didn't like that."

He narrowed his eyes as a Salarian scampered up and placed a case of armour and a shotgun on the ground at his feet, and then backed away, a look of awe and respect in its lizard-like gaze. I raised an eyebrow. "Okay, that odd even for you. The fuck did you do to them?"

"Warden, a big walking lizard in a tank suit….used to beat on them for fun. They were terrified of him."

Dom began fitting his armour on as he spoke, and as he peeled away some of his rags to make it fit, I saw bruises and cuts all over his body. "Then I got here," he growled as he remembered, "and I showed them how to stand the fuck up. They're still terrified, but they can see I'm not. And that makes all the difference."

I nodded with some small measure of reverence. I knew how Dom could be. What he was describing wasn't half of what he could inspire in people on his best days. "So what's our next move Prince?"

That question centred me firmly back in the moment, and I grinned as he slipped the chest plate of the hard suit into place. "Well Dom, it involves explosives, sabotage, a three-way firefight and lots and lots of dead aliens. Any of that sound appealing to you?"

Dom smiled, and picked up the shotgun. It was one of the larger ones. I could tell. Even a pump action Bennelli looked small in Dom's massive hands. This one looked just right for him. In other words, it was the size of a small cannon. "Yeah, I think it does Prince. I think it does."

**A/N: Though I tried my hardest to cut it down, I couldn't. This tenth chapter it seems, shall have one final part. The Last of the First are all together now, and before they leave, you just know that there has to be a showdown. Between who, and how, I leave up to your imagination. Until next time.**


End file.
